Solution Manual for Organic and Biochemistry for Today 8th

Edition Seager Slabaugh 1133605141 9781133605140

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Chapter 2: Unsaturated Hydrocarbons

CHAPTER OUTLINE
12.1 The Nomenclature of 12.5 Alkynes
Alkenes 12.6 Aromatic Compounds and
12.2 The Geometry of Alkenes the Benzene Structure
12.3 Properties of Alkenes 12.7 The Nomenclature of 12.8 Properties and Uses of
12.4 Addition Polymers Benzene Derivatives Aromatic Compounds

LEARNING OBJECTIVES/ASSESSMENT
When you have completed your study of this chapter, you should be able to:
1. Classify unsaturated hydrocarbons as alkenes, alkynes, or aromatics. (Section 12.1; Exercise 12.2)
2. Write the IUPAC names of alkenes from their molecular structures. (Section 12.1; Exercise 12.4)
3. Predict the existence of geometric (cis-trans) isomers from formulas of compounds. (Section 12.2;
Exercise 12.18)
4. Write the names and structural formulas for geometric isomers. (Section 12.2; Exercise 12.20)
5. Write equations for addition reactions of alkenes, and use Markovnikov’s rule to predict the
major products of certain reactions. (Section 12.3; Exercise 12.26)
6. Write equations for addition polymerization, and list uses for addition polymers. (Section 12.4;
Exercise 12.36)
7. Write the IUPAC names of alkynes from their molecular structures. (Section 12.5; Exercise 12.44)
8. Classify organic compounds as aliphatic or aromatic. (Section 12.6; Exercise 12.48)
9. Name and draw structural formulas for aromatic compounds. (Section 12.7; Exercises 12.52 and
12.54)
10. Recognize uses for specific aromatic compounds. (Section 12.8; Exercise 12.66)

LECTURE HINTS AND SUGGESTIONS

1. Explain the term "unsaturated" as the ability of a hydrocarbon to pick up smaller molecules. Describe
how smaller molecules can be added to the double bond. The students have heard of the term
"unsaturated" as it applies to fats. Explain that unsaturated fats have double bonds as part of their
structure.
2. Use molecular models in class to illustrate the different types of isomerism. Students are easily
confused as to when structures are equivalent or non-equivalent. Models are essential at this point to
illustrate the differences. Two models which represent equivalent rather than isomeric structures can
be shown to superimpose upon turning or upon rotation about single bonds.
 3. When explaining the formation of addition polymers, first show with structural formulas how
ethylene changes into polyethylene. Then show how by replacing one or more hydrogens in the
ethylene with another group (e.g., chlorine, a benzene ring), essentially the same reaction can lead to
a variety of different polymers. In each case be sure to give common examples of uses for the
polymer.

SOLUTIONS FOR THE END OF CHAPTER EXERCISES

THE NOMENCLATURE OF ALKENES (SECTION 12.1) AND ALKYNES (SECTION 12.5)
12.1 An unsaturated hydrocarbon is a hydrocarbon containing one or more multiple bonds.

287
288 Chapter 2

12.2 An alkene is a hydrocarbon that contains at least one carbon-carbon double bond.
An alkyne is a hydrocarbon that contains at least one carbon-carbon triple bond.
An aromatic hydrocarbon is a compound that contains a benzene ring or other similar feature.

12.3 a. CH3—CH2—CH3 saturated

b. CH3CH=CHCH3 unsaturated alkene
CH
c. H C C CH3
unsaturated alkyne
CH3
d.
unsaturated alkene

e. CH3

saturated

f.
CH CH2
unsaturated alkene

g. CH CH
unsaturated alkene
CH2 CH2

h. CH2=CHCH2CH3 unsaturated alkene

i. CH3 CHCH3
saturated
CH3

 12.4 a. CH3CH=CHCH3 e. Br
2-butene
CH
CH3 CHCH2 C C CH3
C
b. CH3 CH2 CHCH3
CH3

CH2CH3 6-bromo-2-methyl-3-heptyne
3-ethyl-2-pentene
CH3 CH
c. f. 3

CH3 C C C CH2 CH3

CH3
CH3 CH2CH3
4,4-dimethyl-2-hexyne
1-ethyl-2,3-dimethylcyclopropene

d. CH3 g. CH3
CH3 CH CH CHCH2 CH CH2
6-methyl-1,4-heptadiene
4-methylcyclopentene
 Unsaturated Hydrocarbons 289
12.5 a. CH3CHCH CHCH2CH3 f. CH2CH2CH3

CH3
2-methyl-3-hexene

b. CH3CH CHCH CHCHCH3

CH3
6-methyl-2,4-heptadiene 7-propyl-1,3,5-cycloheptatriene

c. g. CH2CH2CH2CH3

CH2 C CH CH CHCH2CH3

cyclopentene
CH2CH3
2-butyl-3-ethyl-1,4-heptadiene
d. CH3—C≡C—
CH2CH3 2-pentyne
e.
CH
3

CH2CHCH3

CH3
3-isobutyl-5-methylcyclohexene

12.6 a. 3-ethyl-2-hexene
d. 2-isopropyl-4-methylcyclohexene CH3

CH3 CH
CH3
b. 3,4-dimethyl-1-pentene
CH3 CH3

CH2 CH CH CH CH3

c. 3-methyl-1,3-pentadiene e. 1-butylcyclopropene
CH3 CH2CH2CH2CH3

CH2 CH C CH CH3
290 Chapter 2
12.7 a. 4,4,5-trimethyl-2-heptyne
CH3

CH3 C C C CH CH2 CH3

CH3 CH3
b. 1,3-cyclohexadiene

c. 2-t-butyl-4,4-dimethyl-1-pentene CH3

CH3 C CH3 CH3

CH2 C CH2 C CH3

CH3
d. 4-isopropyl-3,3-dimethyl-1,5-octadiene CH3

CH3 CH CH3

CH2 CH C
CH
CH
CH CH2
CH3

CH3
e. 2-methyl-1,3-cyclopentadiene
CH3

f. 3-sec-butyl-3-t-butyl-1-heptyne CH3

CH3 C CH3

C CH2 CH2 CH2 CH3

CH C

CH3 CH CH2CH3
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 “The great monk has come through the wood-ways:
he sits on the hill,
And whom will he steal from us next,
for he takes whom he will?”
And his disciples hearing this verse went to the Exalted One and
repeated it, dwelling on the anger of some of the people. But the Perfect
One smiled, for the young monks were angry.
“Seven days will this excitement last, monks, and for that time only.
But if they taunt you with that verse, reply with this:
“The heroes, the Perfect Ones, lead by the Truth:—
and who calls it amiss?
If the Buddha persuades by the truth, will ye
blame him for this?”
And the disciples smiled also and were content, and in seven days it
was forgotten, and still the great and lowly flocked to hear.
Now of the people who flocked to him many desired signs and
wonders that so they might be convinced of the truth, but these were not
given in that manner and the Blessed One forbade his disciples to exalt
themselves thus. For there is nothing but the taintless beauty of Law
throughout the worlds, and the wise know there is no miracle at all, but
only a higher law, not known to the ignorant, which in its action appears
to them strange and a miracle. Yet did our Lord teach that for the
instructed there are the powers, since to them in their higher
consciousness the bonds of time and space and form exist no more. But it
is useless and perilous to expose these mysteries before the ignorant who
can but see in them the breaking of the law, and see it either with fear or
greed. Therefore he taught that those who have attained should be wise
and silent in knowledge where the occasion does not demand speech or
action, and very rarely can they be demanded, for each stage has its own
knowledge and cannot rise to the knowledge of a consciousness above its
own. Hence all this foolish talk of miracle and the like. But for those
who know even in part the fetters are broken:—the binding fetters of
form, time and space. And of such a case the Lord told this story, while
he rested at one time at Jetavana:
“There was a faithful, noble, joyful disciple who desired to hear
again the words of Him who has thus Attained, and he came in the
evening to the river Aciravati, hoping to cross by the ferry. But so it was
that the boatman had himself gone to hear the great words and there was
no ferry. Then, joyful in meditating on the Light, and lost of all else, that
faithful disciple walked on the water of the river, and his feet made no
holes in the water, and he went as if on dry land. But suddenly in the
middle of the river he saw waves, and his joy sank and his feet with it,
for fear entered his soul and fear is a fetter of the world of form, so that
he immediately became subject to it. But again he strengthened his
inmost self in meditation on the Enlightened One, and again he walked
on the water and so came to Jetavana and saluted the Blessed One, and
took his seat respectfully beside him, and the Lord asked: ‘Disciple, did
you come with little fatigue by the road? Have you lacked for food?’
And he replied:
“Lord, in my joyful meditation I received support so that I walked on
the water and did not sink, and thus have I come to Jetavana as though I
walked on dry land.”
And the Lord said: “So also has it been in past lives.”
For he taught that though there are times and seasons for the powers
to be manifested to the ignorant, they are very few.
 CHAPTER XIV

N
while the Perfect One dwelt by Rajagriha there came to him
a message from Kapila, from his father, the Maharaja
Suddhodana, and it said this:
“My son, tidings have reached me of great things concerning
you and the fulfilment of prophecies. But of these I will not speak for it
is fitting that I should hear them from your own lips. But this I have to
say: Is it not just and right that I should see my son before I die? Come to
me.”
And when this reached the Enlightened One it was impossible that he
should doubt or hesitate, for who had more right to call upon him? And
so, preparing himself for the journey on foot with certain of his disciples,
once more he set his face to Kapila looking toward the mountains.
And many things filled his heart, of memory and of affection, but all
now controlled and guided by divine knowledge and certitude so that he
went surrounded by peace and glad in that he carried a great gift to his
father exceeding all gold, all jewels of all kings, if so it could be
received, repaying thus the tenderness which had guarded his youth.
And when the Maharaja and the people of Kapila heard he would
come, from that day forth they watched the ways to the city that they
might with due eagerness and joy welcome the great return of their
Prince. For they said proudly:
“Our Prince who left us to seek enlightenment has now found it, and
gloriously returns!” and they thought:
“To what kingdom has the like happened?”
So journeying on foot, the Blessed One, crowned with the Ten
Perfections, at last approached Kapila, and those who were the far
outposts of the watch ran back to the next and those to the next until it
reached the city crying:
“The Prince comes! The Prince comes!”
And the Maharaja having prepared himself, surrounded by his lords
and all the neighbouring nobility, went forth along the flower-strewn
ways (for the people hurried with flowers and banners and perfumes) to
meet the great guest. And the heart of the Maharaja was hot within him
and exulted, thinking:
“He returns and the clouds are past and the sun of his glory drowns
all in its brightness, and my good days are come again.”
 So they paused in the principal street of the town and there waited in
the shade, with banners and flowers making gay the blue air about them.
Then at long last moving through the streets, followed by two others,
the Maharaja and his nobles saw a young monk clad in the yellow robe,
with one shoulder bared, who in his hands carried an alms-bowl, and at
each house door stopped and silently tendered the bowl, receiving with
majesty what was given, and passing on with patience when it was
refused. And it was his son.
Then shame and love and anger contended in the heart of the
Maharaja and tore him like a whirlwind among the leaves of a tree, and
he clenched his robe across his breast and cried out aloud to Siddhartha:
“I am put to shame—to horrible shame. My son a beggar! Our race is
beaten to the earth with shame.”
And standing calmly before the angry Maharaja the Blessed One
after due salutation lifted his eyes and replied:
“Maharaj, this is the custom of our race.”
“This horrible thing is not so. Not one of our ancestors has ever
begged his bread.”
“Maharaj, you and your high race claim descent from kings,—but my
descent is far otherwise. It is from the Buddhas of ancient days, and as
they have done, begging their food from the charitable, so do I, nor can I
otherwise.”
But seeing his father still in pain from anger and sorrow, the
Perfected One spoke thus:
“Do I not know that the King’s heart bleeds with love and memory,
and that for his son’s sake he adds grief to grief? But now let these
earthly bonds of love be instantly unloosened and utterly destroyed, for
there are greater and higher. Ceasing from thought of such love, let the
King’s mind receive from me such spiritual food as no son has yet
offered to father, a gift most beautiful and wonderful.”
So leading the King by the hand they went together to the palace, the
mind of the Maharaja quieted and subdued as after a storm the billows
sink to rest.
And within the palace the Perfected One looked for Another, but she
was not there, for her very life beat against her body in agony,
remembering, remembering, and she said in her heart:
“I will not go. I cannot go. If I am of any value in his eyes, I, the
mother of his son, he will come to me. I cannot go to him.”
So, when a little time had passed, the Perfected One arose, and
attended by the two mightiest of his disciples and followed by the
Maharaja went to the Palace of his wife, and as he went, he said:
“Monks, if this lady should embrace me, do not hinder her, though it
be against the rule.”
And pacing silently beside him, the two comprehended the wisdom
and compassion of the Lord, bowing their heads.
And they entered the hall where the Princess stood unveiled, the
glory of her hair shorn, clad in a coarse robe of yellow resembling his
own, and divested of all jewels and splendours, and she stood like the
marble image of a woman as he entered, pale in the shadows.
Then, seeing him, suddenly love and manifold anguish broke in a
freshet in her heart as when the melting snows fill Rohini until she floods
her banks; and pride and love, each stabbed to the heart, strove within
her, and with piteous eyes she looked upon her Lord once so near and
now so far, as he stood calmly regarding her with a look she could not
understand, and love had the victory, and she ran to him and falling on
the ground laid her face upon his feet and embraced them weeping most
bitterly.
And there was silence, none hindering or speaking, and he looked
down upon her.
So she lay.
But after awhile remembrance returned to her and his silence and the
distance wide as heaven and earth between them, and she rose with
majesty and withdrew herself to one side and stood with bowed head
while the Maharaja declared to the Perfected One her griefs and patience
and mortifications so that she might resemble him, abjuring her bed for a
mat laid upon the ground, and the feasts of the palace for one poor meal
a day, and much more. And the Prince heard and speaking slowly, still
with his eyes upon her, said:
“This is true. Great also was the virtue of this high lady, the mother
of Rahula, virtue in a former life which I remember and she too will
remember one day with gladness. Lady, mother of my son, the way that I
have opened is open for you also. Come and hear.”
And with his eyes upon her to the last he turned and went away.
So that evening, seated by the bank of Rohini, the Perfect One taught
the Way before his own people, and they crowded to hear; and this high
lady seated, veiled so that none might see her hidden eyes, heard also,
and as she listened, illusion fell from her; she perceived the Unchanging,
the Formless, the Beautiful, and the illusory forms of this world and the
delusion of time fell from her also, and she beheld her love no longer
past and done with, but eternal as the eternity of the Self that alone
endures, and the imprisoning self which alone can suffer died within her
and left her enfranchised, and inward light shone upon her and she knew
the truth.
So also was it with the Maharaja and the Maharani Prajapati and
many more.
But on the next day the Princess Yashodara called to her son Rahula
and dressed him in his best until he shone bright and beautiful as a star,
and she laid her cheek against his, saying:
“Go now, beloved, and seek your father and ask for your
inheritance.”
And he answered:
“Mother, I know of no father but the Maharaja. What father? And
why should he withhold my inheritance?”
And she said: “Go and ask. But first see, that you may know him.”
She led the boy to the window and pointed.
“That monk, clothed in the yellow robe, he whose face shines like the
sun in its strength, is your father. And he has great wealth—riches, not to
be told in words. Go, son, and demand your inheritance.”
And the boy went, wondering and desiring, and in the garden he ran
quickly and catching the robe of the Blessed One, he said:
“My father, how happy I am to be near you. O day of gladness,” and
tears of joy overflowed his eyes, seeing his father so great and beautiful.
But to test him, the Blessed One was silent, pacing toward the
Nyagrodha grove, and still the child followed, entreating for his
inheritance.
Then when they reached the grove, the Perfected One turned smiling
to Sariputta the great disciple, and he said:
“Monk, what think you? For worldly wealth perishes, but this
remains. Shall I make my son heir to the Greatest? Let us admit him to
the Order.”
And it was done, and the heart of the Princess sang within her for
bliss, and henceforward the boy trod the way of Peace.
So leaving joy and tranquillity behind him and measureless content
in the soul of Yashodara, the Blessed One returned to Shravasti on the
river Rapti and there a rich merchant, Anathapindika, gave to the Order a
pleasant grove named Jetavana, and a monastery, and there during the
rains our Lord dwelt and many of his teachings and discourses were
spoken at Jetavana.
And this was the manner of his life.
 The Blessed One would rise early in the morning, and that some one
of his followers might gain merit he accepted service, and water was
brought to him for ablution, and having performed this he would sit
alone until it was time to go and beg his food. Then he would put on his
tunic, girdle, and robe, and taking his bowl would enter the village or
town for alms. Sometimes alone, sometimes with other monks, many of
them men of great and noble birth. And it seemed that gentle breezes
cleared the air for him and clouds let fall rain to lay the dust, and where
he placed his foot the way was even and pleasant and flowers blossomed.
And it appeared to those who saw, that rays of radiance surrounded his
person, since he possessed the attributes of that true world which
encompasses the illusions of the false world perceived by the senses.
By all these tokens and more did the people know who approached,
and they said to each other:
“Bhagavat—the Blessed One—has now entered for alms,” and robed
in their best, with perfumes, flowers, and such offerings as they could
give, they came into the street. There, having paid their homage, some
would implore him:
“Reverend sir, let us feed ten monks,” and some, “Let us feed
twenty,” and the rich “Let us feed a hundred.” And the most fortunate
would take the bowl of the Blessed One and fill it with food.
When he had finished his meal, the Blessed One considering what
was suited to the minds of those who listened, would so teach them the
Law that many would attain to the fruit of knowledge in its different
degrees, and some in the highest—that of a clear perception in saintship,
—and having thus given his good gifts to the multitude he would rise
and return to the quiet monastery.
On his arrival there he sat in a pavilion shaded from the sun, on an
excellent Buddha-mat which had been spread for him, and there waited
for the monks to finish their meal, and when this was done he entered his
chamber and bathed his feet from the dust of travel.
Then, standing, he exhorted the assembly of monks, saying:
“Monks, diligently work out your salvation, for not often is a Buddha
—an Enlightened One—seen in the world—not often is it possible thus
to hear the Law. And if even an animal can keep the Precepts, how much
more a man.”
And at this point some would ask the Blessed One for exercises in
meditation and to each he assigned what suited best their characters. And
then all did obeisance to the Perfect One, and dispersed to the places
where they were in the habit of spending the night or day, some to the
forest, some to the foot of trees, some, in meditation, to the heavenly
places.
And the Blessed One, then entering his chamber, would, if wearied,
lie down for awhile, not sleeping but mindful and conscious and on his
right side, as a lion takes his repose. And when refreshed he rose, and
sent his gaze through the world (for to the Illuminated this is possible), to
see who it was possible he might aid.
And after this, the people of the village or town near which he might
be dwelling assembled, again in their best robes, and he, approaching
with majesty, took his seat on the Buddha-mat in the little audience hall,
and declared the doctrine to his hearers who sat before him rapt in
hearing.
And when they had made obeisance and departed it was the custom
of the Perfected One to bathe himself, and after that to assume his tunic
and girdle, and throwing his robe over his right shoulder to go into his
chamber and there fall into deep meditation, and after that was the rest of
the day given to the monks who assembled, coming from here, there, and
everywhere, to question the Blessed Lord and ask his instructions or
plead for a sermon and all this he very gladly gave, so consuming the
first watch of the night.
And during the middle watch of the night he would commune with
the blessed spirits of the Universe, they drawing very near him in the true
accord.
And the last watch of the night he divided into three parts, and weary
with much sitting he paced up and down considering many things, and in
the second part would enter his chamber and rest, and in the third, seated,
send the diamond-clear ray of his perception through the world that he
might commune with any soul who needed that communion.
And thus were spent the days of him who had attained the Paramitas,
the Ten Perfections.
And if there be any who would know of the ten, these are they.
Almsgiving, morality, long-suffering, manliness, meditation, mystic
insight, resolution, strength, knowledge, and skill in the choice of means.
In all these was our Lord perfected. And above even these in Love.
For hear the teaching of the Lord:
“As a mother, even at the risk of her own life, protects her son, her
only son, so let the disciple cultivate love without measure toward all
beings. Let him cultivate toward the whole world above, below, around,
a heart of love unstinted, unmixed with differing or opposing interests.
And let a man maintain this mindful love whether he stands, walks, sits
or lies. For in all the world this state of heart is best.”
For the Lord, the Blessed One, taught that this love must increase
until the wide Universe is suffused with its radiance.
“Our mind shall not waver. No evil speech will we utter. Tender and
compassionate will we abide, loving, void of malice. And with rays of
love shall we suffuse all that is, even with love grown great and
measureless.”
And because of this high teaching many men and women attained to
Arhatship, becoming perfected saints, seeing things as they are in
themselves and not according to their illusory appearances in this world
of illusion,—and they made great songs of triumph and victory, saying
that when the Hindrances are removed from a man he is as one set free
from debt, imprisonment, and slavery.
“For when the five Hindrances are put away within him, he is a free
man and secure, and gladness springs up within him, and joy, and so
rejoicing all his frame becomes at ease, and in that peace his heart is
stayed.”
And again, this song of Right Rapture.
“It is in very bliss we dwell, we who hate not those who hate us:
Among men full of hate we dwell, who are void of hate.
It is in very bliss we dwell, we in health among the ailing.
Among men weary and sick, we continue well.
It is in very bliss we dwell, we, free from care among the careworn.
Among men tortured with unrest, we are calm.
It is in very bliss we dwell, we who have no hindrances.
We have become feeders on joy, like to the shining Gods.”
“The shining Gods.” What then are these Gods and Shining Ones?
Thus have I heard.
Surely the Gods are they who having acquired mighty merit by great
good deeds reign and shine for ages until the power of their good deeds
is exhausted. For they knew not the Nirvana and the disintegration of the
false self, and so desired Paradise as their reward, and Paradise they
have. But though it last for ages, when the power of their good deeds is
exhausted then they too must enter again by the gate of birth and humbly
learn to extinguish all desire, even though it be the desire of Heaven, and
to know that the greedy I which desired these things is non-existent, until
they too, treading the Noble Eightfold Path, enter upon the highest
wisdom and attain to the Nirvana, the Peace, for this alone is that
comprehension which beholds the heavens and hells as pictures, as
illusions, as nothing,—and whoso possesses it sits above manhood and
Godhead alike, having utterly attained.
Thus it must be when ignorance is dead and wisdom made perfect,
for the vain shows of ignorance are dispersed in clear perception of the
things that are true and eternal.
When the wise man by earnestness has driven vanity far away, he has
climbed the terraced heights of wisdom, and, care-free, looks down upon
the illusory world, the careworn crowd, as he who standing upon a
mountain top watches serenely the toilers in the plain.
And a man must have what he desires, be it the Paradises that pass,
or the Peace that is eternal.
 CHAPTER XV

T
have I heard.
Now persons of all castes, high and low, women as well as
men, sought the teachings of the Lord—and he received all with
courtesy and gladness, for he said:
“There is no caste in blood and tears.”
So they brought him their griefs and questionings. And very strange
to them did it seem to behold a great Prince surrounded by young men of
the noble families who each and all had thrown off the Hindrances of the
illusory world and forsaking all had followed the Truth.
But when they themselves had seen the light no longer did it appear
strange, for who will stay to watch a fragment of broken glass flash in
the sun, when before him pulse the great lights of a royal jewel, brother
of the sun and stars.
And about this time the beautiful harlot of Vaisali, the Lady Amra,
lovely as the divine Shri rising from the ocean, heard that a great Lord of
Wisdom was come to Vaisali, and she offered him the use of her Garden
of Mangoes outside the city that he might rest in the delicious shade of
her trees and in the little pavilion where she took her pleasure, for she
was rich in gold and jewels and resembled a great Princess in pride and
beauty. But she did not herself think to see him, for the joy of life held
her as the nectar of flowers holds the clinging bee, making his wings
heavy so that he scarce can fly.
But her steward came to her, saying:
“O auspicious lady, I know not how it is, but all the nobles and
people are afoot, making their way to the Garden of Mangoes, and when
I asked the reason they replied:
“It is because of the man who rests there. There is none like him—
none! And he is the son of a King and has forsaken his kingdom that he
may find a greater.”
And she leaped to her feet laughing, ever ready for some new sight,
saying:
“Is it so? Then make ready my vehicle and I will go with Subaddha
to see the man.”
And they harnessed her velvet-white oxen with tassels of gold to her
gilded car, and she took her place with the lady Subaddha at her feet and
a golden canopy above her head, shining like the moon in her glory, and
she went as a queen, casting proud glances about her.
 Now it was so early in the day that folk were busied with their
labours and the nobles were yet sleeping and the way was clear before
her, and the oxen trod quietly between the neem trees and fan palms until
she came to the gate of her Garden of Mangoes, and there they halted in
young sunlight and the dew of dawn. And a man stood by the gate as
though he guarded it, and he was robed in yellow with one arm and
shoulder bare, and when she would have entered he stretched out his arm
and forbade her, saying:
“Lady, being such a woman as you are, how is it seemly that you
should enter this garden? Return whence you came.”
And the blood fell away from her face and left her pale at that saying,
for she had lived all her life like a queen, and now it seemed that scorn
and the end were come upon her, and her beauty nothing though she
shone like a night of moon and stars in her woven webs of gold. And
silence fell upon her as she looked upon this noble young man serene
and beautiful, who regarded her not, nor could she say, “The garden is
mine,” for she was afraid.
So then, between the feathering palms and the bamboo leaves that
floated on still air, came another man, also clothed in the yellow robe,
but walking like a Prince, and he said softly to the other:
“Stay her not, brother Yasas, for our Master would look upon her
beauty. Descend, Lady, and follow.”
And a little comforted at his saying she descended from beneath the
canopy and followed through the palms and the mango trees that were
her own and now seemed not hers. And there was great quiet, for the
monk said no word and the leaves forbore to stir and not a cricket
chirped and the sun was very early and dewy in the green ways. And she
thought:
“What shall I see? For kings and princes have feared my beauty and I
mocked them. And if he be wise, yet have the stern ascetics of the forests
—those whose power the very Gods dreaded,—been seduced from their
wisdom by the nymphs of Heaven. They have gone utterly astray, and
very certainly I am beautiful as Menaka or Urvasi.”
And, now they turned into a green way beside the still pool where the
lotuses bloomed, and it was cool and dim with a deep shade of trees, for
they let down pillared stems to root again in earth and make a forest
temple that scarcely a ray might pierce. And within the shade was One
seated with folded hands and feet and behind his head a raying light that
shone like the midnight moon, and, lost in calm, he looked out into the
worlds.
 And the man beside her fell on his knees and hid his face.
Not for me, O, not for me, least of all the disciples is it meet that I
should tell of this or of the similitude of the Blessed One—the very wise,
the passionless, the desireless Lord in the eyes of such as loved him.
Only this I know, that the woman stood amazed, forgetting her beauty,
forgetting herself, forgetting all in the Three Worlds but only that One.
And the rock crystal that was her heart melted within her and flowed
away in a river of tears: nor could she stay her feet, but slowly, very
slowly, she approached and before his feet she fell and laid her face on
the earth.
Now after awhile the Exalted One commanded her to rise and be
seated, and he incited and gladdened her with high discourse so that she
could no longer fear but only love in hearing these great words with ears
that drank them as the parched earth yearns for the rains. And if it be
asked how a woman of evil life should thus be honoured, should thus
harken with love and understanding, I tell this thing.
Many lives ago was there a deep forest where beasts and birds dwelt
and nourished their young in peace, but one day a wind blew and brought
on its wings a great fire. And none had pity on the beasts and birds but
one pheasant, glorious of plumage, and this, caring nothing for her own
life, plunged into a stream of pure water, and flying upward shook the
drops from her feathers on the flames. Therefore Indra, King of the
Gods, seeing said:
“Foolish bird! and what can this do? You weary yourself in vain!
This is a deed for the great and not for a little bird!”
And she: “You are Indra, King of Heaven, and with a wish you could
quench this fire, yet do not. But as for me while it burns I have no time
for words.”
And again she flew against the fire, sprinkling water. And the Great
God blew with his breath, extinguishing the fire, but the pheasant had
perished. Now in that former life was the Lady Amra that bird, and
because the fruit of a high deed can never perish so, passing through
many lives, she attained at last to lie at the feet of the Blessed One. Just
and perfect is the Law.
So, seated, at his feet, she received the Heart of Wisdom and
accepted the first noble Truth, the Truth of suffering. And when the
Exalted One judged that she could receive no more that day, he
dismissed her, and she bowed at his feet and said this:
“O, may the Lord in deep compassion do me the honour of eating at
my house to-morrow.”
 And all assembled thought this could not be, but the Blessed One
gave by silence his consent, and circling reverently about him three times
she departed glad of heart, and the people made way for one so
honoured.
Now the nobles of Vaisali had come out to meet the World-Honoured
and they were on the road, and Amra in the dancing joy of her heart
drove up against them, axle to axle, and they said angrily.
“How is it, Amra, that you, being such a one, drive up against us?”
And she cried aloud.
“Noble persons, I have bidden the Exalted One for tomorrow’s meal,
and he comes—he comes!”
And they halted amazed, and said:
“Sell us the honour of his company for great weights of gold.”
And she, glowing with joy.
“Noble persons, were you to give me Vaisali and all its subject
territories yet would I not give up this honourable meal.”
And the angry nobles cast up their hands, crying.
“We are outdone by this mango-girl! We are out-reached by this
mango-girl.”
And in anger they proceeded to the garden and went in before the
Lord where he sat surrounded with calm, and they said:
“May the Exalted One do us the honour of taking his meal together
with his disciples at one house to-morrow?”
But he replied:
“Noble persons, I have promised to eat with the Lady Amra.”
And again they threw up their hands exclaiming:
“We are outdone by this mango-girl. Great shame to us is this!”
And the Lord Buddha robed himself early in the morning and took
his begging bowl and his disciples followed, and he went to the Street of
Flowers, and Amra set sweet milk-rice and cakes before the Lord and his
followers and she herself attended upon them in great humility and they
ate the food they had not thought to eat, and when it was eaten, she sat
lowly by his side and folding her hands, said:
“Holy One, I present this house to the Order. Accept it, if it be your
will.”
And the Blessed One accepted the gift, seeing the heart that made it,
and after inciting and gladdening her with high discourse, he rose and
went his way.
And in merciful deeds and right living this lady grew, and the Heart
of Wisdom strengthened in her, and in this very life she became a
perfected saint—a great Arhat—and entered the Nirvana—the Peace.
For, as the lotus flowers do not grow on dry land but spring from black
and watery mud, so even by the strength of her passion and sin and the
deeps of experience she reached the heights. And she it was who made
The Psalm of Old Age, and smiled in its making.
“Glossy and black as the down of the bee my curls once clustered.
They, with the waste of years, are liker to hemp or to bark-cloth,
Such and not otherwise, runneth the rune of the Soothsayer.
Lovely the lines of my ears as the delicate work of the goldsmith.
They, with the waste of years, are seamed with wrinkles and
pendent.
Such and not otherwise runneth the rune of the Soothsayer.
Full and lovely in rounding rose of old the small breasts of me.
They, with the waste of the years, droop sunken as skins without
water.
So and not otherwise runneth the rune of the Soothsayer.
Such hath this body been. Now age-weary, weak and unsightly,
Home of manifold ills: old house whence the mortar is dropping
So and not otherwise runneth the rune of the Soothsayer.”[4]

[4] Translated by C. F. Rhys Davids.

And inasmuch as the Sister thus discerned impermanance in all

phenomena, knowing the world we see is but the creation of our senses,
she, making clear her insight, attained, leaving behind her all fear and
grief. For who shall measure the bounds and deeps and height and length
of that wisdom that is one with Love?
Hear also the story of the very wise and glad and gay Lady Visakha
—that pillar of the Order, who abiding in the world as a great lady of
riches yet gave her heart to wisdom and the Law of the Perfect One, for
open is the way to all.
She was daughter to a great man, Balamitra, and was a young maiden
in her father’s house, when a Brahman commissioned by the Treasurer
Migara to choose a wife for his son came that way, and when he arrived
he saw Visakha and other girls going into the wood in search of
amusement, and he watched them idly.
Now the other girls were frivolous, running, skipping, whirling about
and singing, but Visakha walked quietly with them, observing all and
saying little. And when they came to the tank the others carelessly
stripped themselves and began to play in the clear water. But Visakha
lifted her clothes by degrees as she entered and by degrees lowered them
as she came out, careful and modest in her conduct. And, after this, food
was distributed, and the other girls ate hurriedly and greedily and then
gave the remnants to their attendants. But Visakha gave food first to
those who served her, and then ate temperately herself.
And the Brahman, still watching, saw that as the girls returned there
was water across the path and the others took off their shoes and waded,
but Visakha remained shod, and when they came to a wood she kept her
sunshade up though the others had lowered theirs.
And there the Brahman came up with her, in much astonishment and
questioned her, and seeing him to be a holy and dignified person she
replied with respectful courtesy. And thus he said:
“Dear girl, whose daughter are you?”
“Sir, I am the daughter of Balamitra.”
“Dear girl, be not angry if I question you.”
“While those girls were skipping, dancing and twirling, with other
unseemly manners, you walked quietly; why, dear girl?”
“Because, great sir, all girls are their parents’ merchandise. If in
leaping and twirling I were to injure myself, I must be kept by my
parents while I live, for none would woo me.”
“Good, dear girl. I understand. Now, in entering the water your
companions stripped themselves but you went clothed and modest. And
why?”
“O uncle, maidens must be shame-faced. It is not well for them to be
seen unclothed.”
“Dear girl, there was none to see.”
“Uncle, you saw.”
“Good, dear girl. And again, the others neglected their attendants, but
you fed yours first. And why?”
“For this reason, uncle; we have easy days and feastful; they, hard
work always.”
“Good, dear girl. And why in wading through the water did you keep
your shoes on?”
 “Because in water one cannot see where one plants one’s feet. I
would not cut mine!”
“And in the wood, dear girl, you kept your sunshade open. Why? For
then there was shade from the trees?”
“But also, uncle, the droppings of birds, the malice of the monkeys
letting fall unpleasant fragments, the falling of leaves and twigs. In the
open this seldom happens; in a wood often.”
So full of delight at her good sense, the Brahman went to her parents,
and asked her in marriage for the son of Migara. And he said:
“This girl will make a noble wife and a great lady, for she is full of
thought for others and wise with the very wisdom of the Law. Give her
to the son of Migara.”
And it was granted and they sent her to her husband in the city of
Savatthi. Now Visakha was one who followed the Enlightened One with
all her wise heart, but it was not so with Migara, her husband’s father,
nor yet with his household. But she gratified their eyes for they
demanded the Five Beauties in a daughter of the House, and these five
she richly possessed namely, beauty of hair, beauty of flesh, beauty of
bone, beauty of skin, and beauty of youth.
And beauty of hair is when the hair resembles a peacock’s tail,
falling to the end of the tunic where it curls upward. Beauty of flesh,
when the lips resemble a bright red gourd. Beauty of bone, when the
teeth gleam between the rosy lips like cut mother-of-pearl, with even
division. Beauty of skin, when without the application of any cosmetic it
is smooth as a lotus-wreath and white as Kanikara flowers. Beauty of
youth is the endurance of the gaiety and freshness of youth after many
child-births. All these had Visakha, and yet another, for her voice was
sweeter than music, like the silver sounding of a little gong. And on
parting her father presented her with a magnificent jewel adornment
known as the Great Creeper Parure, and a part of it consisted of a
peacock with five hundred feathers of red gold in each wing, the beak of
coral, the eyes of jewels and likewise the neck and tail-feathers. And on
Visakha’s head it resembled a peacock perched on a height, and it gave
forth music and appeared to be real.
But when she was established in her new home she found that
Migara, her father-in-law, was a follower of the naked ascetics, and they
and he cast scorn on the Perfect One, and this disturbed her much, and
the ascetics said to Migara:
“O householder, you have introduced into your family an arrant
misfortune breeder, a disciple of the monk Gotama. Expel her instantly.”
 “And that is not easy!” thought Migara, “for she comes of a great
family,—But I will take measures.”
So he sat down and began to eat sweet rice-milk from a golden bowl,
and Visakha stood before him, dutifully fanning him. And a holy
mendicant entered with his begging bowl for alms, but Migara made as
though he did not see him, and ate on, keeping his head down.
“Pass on, reverend sir!” said Visakha with courtesy. “My father is
eating stale food—it would not be agreeable to you.”
And when she said this, Migara leaped to his feet and cried:
“Take away this food and drive the girl from the house. To think the
slut should accuse Me of eating stale food, and at a time of festival!”
“Father!” said Visakha, with composed serenity. “I shall not easily
leave the house. For I am no harlot picked up at some river bathing
place, but a great lady. And my father foresaw such a case, and when I
left commanded eight householders of this town to investigate any
charge brought against me. Summon them now.”
And Migara agreed joyfully, knowing what they must adjudge to
such insolence.
Then they came—eight grave and wise men, and the story was told.
And when it was heard:
“Dear girl,” said the eldest householder, “is it as he says?”
“That is not as I say! For when my father-in-law ignored the monk I
said ‘He is eating stale fare.’ And I meant this—He is uselessly
consuming the merit acquired in a former life instead of making fresh.
Now, what fault was that?”
“None, dear girl. Our daughter speaks justly. Why are you angry with
her, sir?”
“Sirs, granted that was no fault,—But when she came to us her
mother gave her ten admonitions of a hidden meaning, and I dislike
them. First: ‘The indoor fire is not to be taken out of doors.’ Now you
know it is the friendly custom to send fire to our neighbours.”
“Is it as he says, dear girl?”
“Good sirs, this is the meaning: ‘If you notice any fault in any of
your new family, never tell it outside the house. For there is no worse fire
than this.’ Was this a fault in me?”
And Migara was ashamed and said:
“Sirs, I grant this. But she was also instructed thus: ‘Outdoor fire
must not be brought indoors.’ It is the custom to accept fire if ours
should go out, and therefore this was an unseemly instruction.”
 And seated in a row and consulting, the householders appointed their
eldest to answer.
“Is it as he says, dear girl?”
“No, good sirs. The meaning is—‘If any outside the house speak ill
of any within, never repeat it within doors. For there is no fire like the
tongue.”
“Well and good, dear girl. And the rest?”
And she repeated.
“I was instructed. ‘Give to him who gives and also to him who does
not give,’ and this means ‘Be liberal to needy relatives and friends
whether they can repay you or no.’ And again: ‘Sit happily.’ And this
means—‘When you see your father-in-law or his wife or your husband,
you must rise and stand before them.’ ‘Eat happily.’ This means—‘They
must be served by you before you eat yourself.’ ‘Wait upon the fire.’
This signifies, ‘These three must be looked upon as beautiful as a flame
of fire or a royal serpent.’ ‘Reverence the household divinities.’ This
means that these three are your divinities indeed. ‘Sleep happily.’ This
means ‘You must not lie down to sleep till you have done all possible
services for them.’ All these rules, good sirs, I have kept. Now am I in
fault?”
And Migara sat with downcast eyes and the eight said to him:
“Treasurer, is there any other sin in our daughter for she is clear of
any wrong in all this.”
And he said:
“No. None.” But Visakha then arose in just anger.
“Good sirs,” she said, “It would not have been fitting that I should be
dismissed, yet now I am found guiltless I will go. It is a good time.”
And she ordered her many carriages and slaves to be made ready. But
Migara implored her to remain with them, half in fear and half in shame.
And when she refused he redoubled his entreaties, and asked her
forgiveness earnestly. And she replied:
“Good sir, what there is to pardon I pardon cheerfully. But I am
daughter to a family which follows the Law of the Exalted One. If I can
be allowed to attend upon the Assembly, then I will stay. Not otherwise.”
And he replied:
“Dear girl, wait on your Assembly as you please.”
And the end of the matter was that Migara went with Visakha to hear
the World-Honoured, doubtful and unwilling, and it appeared to Migara,
as it did always to all, that the eyes of the Buddha were fixed steadfastly
on him and his proclamation of the Law addressed to him, and to him
only. And Migara heard and the words reached his innermost being and
he became established in the truth and acquired an immovable faith in
the Three Refuges—the Law, the Lord, and the Assembly. And he said:
“Truly it was for my advantage, truly it was for my good that my
daughter-in-law came to my house,” and when he returned, he touched
her breast with his hand, saying:
“Henceforth you are as my mother,” thus giving her the position of
honour. And he caused to be made for her an ornament known as the
Highly Polished Parure, and gave it to her under the eyes of the Buddha.
And she continued to give alms and to do many deeds of merit, and
as the crescent moon rounds in the sky she became great in sons and
daughters, ten of each. She lived to be an hundred and twenty years old,
and not one grey hair was seen upon her head, insomuch that when she
walked to the monastery with her children and their children, people
asked:
“Which is the great Visakha?”
And they said: “That great lady who walks so lightly,” and the others
replied:
“May she walk further! Our lady looks well when she walks.”
And those who saw her stand, sit, or lie, would say:
“I hope she may do each a little longer. Our lady looks well in all she
does.”
So that it could not be charged against her that there was any posture
in which she did not look well.
And great and magnificent were her charities to all who needed. And
even the great Creeper Parure she gave for the needy, and redeemed it
with a King’s ransom, and she attended upon the sick, healing them with
wise medicaments, and she built a monastery and it is easy to rehearse
what she did not do that was good, but impossible to rehearse all her
innumerable nobilities of deed and thought.
And it was of her the One who is Awakened said:
“Just, monks, as a skilful garland-maker if he obtain a heap of
flowers will go on making beautiful garlands without end, even so does
the mind of Visakha incline to do all manner of noble deeds weaving
them into loveliness.”
And this is the history of that great, generous and happy lady, the
daughter of the Law.
 CHAPTER XVI

T
have I heard.
At this time the Queen Prajapati, she who had nourished the
Blessed One with noble milk when his mother Maya was
received into Paradise, sent to our Lord, with a message from
herself and from the Princess Yashodara and other ladies of the royal
family, and it was this.
“Full of hindrances is the household life, very free the life of the
homeless for such as would walk in the way. Let the Blessed One, the
Happy One, permit that women also retire to the peace of the homeless
life under the discipline taught by the Exalted Lord.”
But he was silent, and a second time they made their petition, for
they thought:
“Much need have women of the Peace, and is the way closed to them
only?”
And the Queen Prajapati came herself and besought him with tears,
and he replied:
“Enough, Lady. Do not make this request,” and weeping and saluting
him with reverence she left him.
So wandering from place to place and teaching by the way, the
Blessed One came to Vaisali and stayed awhile in the Pagoda Hall, and
when she knew where she could find him the Queen Prajapati with shorn
hair and yellow robes, followed by a number of the Sakya women
journeyed along the dusty ways to Vaisali and stood in the porch of the
Pagoda Hall weeping and very sorrowful.
Now it so chanced that the disciple Ananda, cousin of the Exalted
One and much loved by him (and he was chosen to wait always about his
person), saw those weeping women stand in the porch, dusty and
foreworn with the long journey and their tender feet swollen and cut with
unwonted travel, and he pitied them and inquired into the cause of their
grief.
And having heard all he approached the Blessed One with reverence
where he sat full of peace looking out into the green shade of the
nyagrodha trees, and after salutation Ananda the beloved sat down
beside him waiting until the Lord turned his eyes serenely upon him.
And then said Ananda:
“Reverend Sir, here in the entrance stands Prajapati the Queen with
swollen feet, sorrowful and weeping, and her word is that the Blessed
One will not permit women to retire to the homeless life. Exalted One, I
beseech you for these. Let their petition be heard.”
But the Blessed One replied:
“Enough, Ananda. Do not ask this.”
And again and yet again the beloved Ananda besought and still the
Lord refused. And then the thought occurred to Ananda that he might ask
in another manner with more success, for he pitied the women for this
great denial of their hope. And he said:
“Lord, if women retire to the homeless life is it possible for them to
attain to the goal of returning only once more to rebirth? Is it possible
that escaping from sorrow they should attain to saintship?”
And the Blessed One in whom is all truth, answered:
“This is possible.”
And the face of Ananda gladdened even like his name which
signifies Joy, and he said:
“Then I beseech the Perfected One to consider how great a
benefactress to the Order has been the Queen. She is sister to the mother
of the Blessed One and at her breast was he nourished. I beseech and yet
again beseech that they be admitted, for if it be possible that they thus
make an end of sorrow shall not this be permitted?”
Then said the Blessed One:
“Hard is it to refuse and I cannot. If therefore these women will
accept eight weighty regulations in addition to those accepted by the
Order—eight weighty regulations making them subject to the Order, it
shall be reckoned to them for ordination.”
And when he had received the eight weighty regulations hard to be
borne, for they set the oldest and most venerable of nuns below the
youngest and least of the Order, Ananda went out to the Queen and told
her all as she stood patiently with the wearied women. And when they
heard the regulations sorrow passed from them as when the moon
escaping from a cloud floats in pure radiance in pure air, and the Queen
answered for Yashodara and for all those tender ones:
“Reverend Ananda, as a woman young, beautiful, and loving to
beautify herself, having obtained a wreath of blue lotus-flowers, or of
perfumed jasmin, takes it and wreathes her head with joy, so do we. O
venerable Ananda, we take up those eight weighty regulations, not to be
transgressed while life lasts.”
And that was their ordination, as the Exalted One had said, and
Ananda returned to the Lord and told him of their joy. And he meditated
and said:
 “If, Ananda, women had not retired to the homeless life, under my
discipline then would religion have endured long in this country, even a
thousand years. But now, not very long will the discipline and religion
endure. And just as a man prudently builds a dike in order that water
confined may not transgress its bounds, have I laid down the eight
weighty regulations. Yet shall it not endure, since women have accepted
the rules.”
And true it is that in India the faith has not endured, but over the rest
of Asia has it spread, strong and mighty.
But the women were glad at heart, for the homeless life drew them
with the very passion of peace and many became great saints, some
dwelling in forests and in caves, and great to them was the joy of peace
in the solitudes far from crowds, and they were filled with the life of
trees and great forests and the strength of the up-running sap and the
speechless communion and growth of trees and plants. And in many joy
broke forth in words and they made the Psalms of the Sisters, even as
their brothers the monks also sang for joy and could no more be silent
than birds at dawn, and the world they had known called to ears that
heard no longer. And thus it called:
“Young art thou, sister, and faultless—what seekest thou in the holy
life?
Cast off that yellow-hued raiment and come!”
And each replied in her own manner.
“I what was well to do have done, and what
Is to my heart delectable. Therein
Is my delight, and thus through happiness
Has happiness been sought after and won.”
Young and old they rejoiced, and the solitudes were kind to them,
admitting them to fellowship. And one aged sister spoke this:
“Though I be suffering and weak and all
My spring of youth be gone, yet have I come
Leaning upon my staff and climbed aloft
On mountain peak. My cloak have I thrown off
My little bowl o’er-turned; so sit I here
Upon the rock. And o’er my spirit sweeps
The breath of Liberty. I win, I win
The Triple Lore! The Buddha’s will be done.”
 For now, they who had been the prisoners of man and of opinion
learnt the beauty of the solitudes, and knew the silence that is in the
starry sky, the sleep that is among the lonely hills, and it became theirs,
and they attained to the coolness, purity and luminance of the Peace,
bathing in it as in moonlit water. For they had passed through the Three
Grades of Training, the Higher habit of Conduct, the Higher
Consciousness, and the Higher Wisdom, and thus, knowing the world,
not as it appears to be but as it is, knowing “This is Ill; this is the cause
of Ill; this is the way leading to the cessation of Ill,” they were glad, and
right ecstasy was theirs and joys that cannot be told, and they were free.
And another said this:
“Nirvana have I realized and gazed
Into the mirror of the holy Norm.
I, even I, am healed of all my hurt.
Down is my burden laid, my task is done,
My heart is wholly set at liberty.”
And again:
“One day bathing my feet, I sit and watch
The water as it trickles down the slope.
Thereby I set my heart in steadfastness,
As one shall train a horse of noble breed.
Then, going to my cell, I take my lamp,
And seated on my couch I watch the flame.
Taking the pin I pull the wick right down
Into the oil. Extinguished is the fire.
Lo, the Nirvana of the little lamp.
Emancipation dawns. My heart is free.”
For as the flame is quenched so are all lusts, desires and cravings
extinguished in the clear waters of Nirvana. There is no fire so burning
as the greed of passion, no luckless cast of the dice so cruel as hate, no ill
so miserable as that of the ego that would claim all. Nor is there any bliss
to be compared with the Nirvana.
And the monks, also musing, made psalms that cannot die, for upon
them also was the bliss.
 “When in the lowering sky thunders the storm-cloud’s drum,
And all the pathways of the birds are thick with rain,
The brother sits within the hollow of the hills
Alone, rapt in thought’s ecstasy. No higher bliss
Is given to men than this.
Or where by rivers flowers crowd the bank,
And fragrant rushes scent the tranquil air
With heart serene the brother sits to see,
Alone, rapt in an ecstasy. No higher bliss
Is given to men than this.”
And another:
“Whene’er I see the crane, her clear pale wings
Outstretched in fear to flee the black storm cloud,
A shelter seeking, to safe shelter borne,
Then does the river Ajakarani
Give joy to me.
Who shall not love to see on either bank
Clustered rose-apple trees in bright array
Beyond the great cave of the hermitage?
Or hear the soft croak of the frogs, their foes,
The legions of the air, withdrawn, proclaim
Now from the mountain streams is’t time to-day
To flit. Safe is the Ajakarani.
She brings us luck! Here it is good to be.”[5]

[5] These Psalms are all translated by C. F. Rhys Davids.

Thus very great joy had come to be by the Blessed One’s sufferings,
and for each pang he had paid came a golden harvest of the peace of
others.
To Him who had thus Attained came men and women from far and
near with doubts and questions, and seated with dignity (for his noble
Aryan birth was upon him as well as the Peace) he received them all,
answering and resolving their doubts, nor was it difficult for him to do
this for his eyes were as the sun in his strength to divide light from
darkness.
 Yet let it be well understood that of certain things he would not
speak, counting them beyond human knowledge and knowing well that
in no human speech are there words to bear the burden of the Ineffable.
Therefore when men asked him of the Beginning, how division from the
Eternal into the false ego-self came into the world and from what well of
bitterness evil thought and evil doing flowed to become tears and blood
in their flowing, he would not answer, for none but a Buddha can
comprehend the deepest, and he only in ways beyond transmission to
others. And he would say:
“The arrow sticks in the wound, will you wait before the healer
draws it out to enquire of what wood is it made and whether the
bowstring is of hair or vegetable fibre? Life is ebbing while you theorize
credulously about present and future, self or identity. Of the origins I do
not teach.”
And when again they besought him to say whether life or
nothingness lay beyond death, only his own nearest disciples could read
the fathomless depths of his calm, looking rather to this than to his
speech. For he said, being alone with them to whom it was given to
know:
“In this world of forms and illusions created by our senses, according
to our illusion a man either is or is not, either lives or dies, but in the true
and formless world this is not so for all is otherwise than according to
our knowledge and it is easier to answer in negatives than in
affirmatives. And if you ask Does a man live beyond death, I answer No,
not in any sense comprehensible to the mind of man which itself dies at
death. And if you ask does a man altogether die at death, I answer No,
for what dies is what belongs to this world of form and illusion, that is
the false I, but beyond this is another world incomprehensible as yet to
such as are not instructed and beyond all human categories, so that if I
would I cannot tell you of it, but I would not, for the things are
disturbing and do not aid the traveller on the only path which can bring
him to their threshold. Therefore of that and of the origins I do not
teach.”
But this ego which the unenlightened believes to be himself, very
certainly falls apart and dissolves at death, nor is there any place of
continuance for it, and it is wholly extinct.
And it so happened that one day a wandering monk, by name
Vacchagotta, came to the Exalted One, and saluting him with friendly
greetings he sat down beside him, and he asked:
 “How does the matter stand, venerated Gotama? In a man is there the
Ego?”
And the Exalted One was silent, and Vacchagotta asked again and yet
again and still there was silence, and after awhile he rose and went away.
But the beloved Ananda came to Him who has thus Attained, and
said:
“Why, sir, did you not answer the wandering monk Vacchagotta?”
And, smiling, he looked in the face of the beloved Ananda.
“If, Ananda, when he asked me, I had answered ‘The ego is,’ then
that reply would have confirmed the teaching of those who believe in the
permanence of that false ego which is a bundle of tendencies and
consciousness and proudly calls itself I and the Soul; and if I had said the
ego is not, this would have confirmed the teaching of those who say
there is annihilation and nothing beyond death. For neither of these
schools, nor yet Vacchagotta, know the distinction between the ego of
which he asked me and the true Ego, for this last is eternal and beyond
comprehension, and the false ego passes and is gone like a dream in the
awakening of dawn. Therefore since Vacchagotta has not attained to the
threshold of that knowledge, being prisoned in the world of appearances,
what could I do but keep silence?”
And the beloved Ananda laid his hand upon his mouth and retired,
for with all his heart of love he had not yet attained to the full insight of
the unreality of appearances, but where he could not understand he
loved. And love is also the Way, as witness the monk Purna who was
about to carry the light into a land of violent and perilous people. So the
Perfected One sent for him, and asked:
“And if, monk, these people abuse and injure you, what will be your
thought?”
“That these people are good in that they only abuse me and do not
beat me.”
“But if they beat you?”
“Then I shall think they are good in that they only beat me and do not
stab me with swords.”
“But if with swords?”
“Then I shall think: They are good. They leave me my life.”
“But if they take your life?”
“Then,—They are good to me in that they have lifted a burden from
me.”
And looking upon his face the World-Honoured said:
 “Well have you spoken, Purna. Go and deliver, you who have
delivered yourself. Comfort, for you are comforted. Guide to the Peace,
for you have entered it.”
So Purna went in joy.
And there was a monk named Yamaka who, considering the
teaching, believed that on the dissolution of the body the man who has
lost all depravity is annihilated and exists no more. And his fellow
monks having in vain urged him to abandon so wicked a heresy called
upon Sariputta the Great to teach him better, and by his silence he
consented.
So when the evening was come, Sariputta the Great rose from deep
meditation and drawing near to Yamaka he greeted him with courtesy as
one monk should another and sitting down respectfully beside him he
questioned him thus:
“Is the report true, brother Yamaka, that the wicked heresy of
annihilation has sprung up in your mind?”
“Even so, brother, do I understand the teaching of the Blessed One.”
And Sariputta the Great mused a moment and resumed:
“What think you, brother Yamaka;—is his bodily form the saint?”
“No indeed, brother.”
“Are sensation, perception, predispositions, the saint?”
“Certainly not, brother.”
“Then can you consider the saint as apart and distinct from form,
sensation, perception and predispositions?”
“Brother, I cannot.”
“And if separately they are not, are they when united the saint?”
“Brother, no.”
“Then what think you, brother Yamaka? If you cannot prove the very
existence of the saint in this world of forms and appearances, is it
reasonable for you to say that at death the saint is annihilated and does
not exist.”
And holding down his head for shame Yamaka answered:
“Brother Sariputta, it was through ignorance I held that wicked
heresy, but now I have acquired the True Doctrine.”
For Sariputta the Great taught as did his Master that the true being is
detached from each of these delusive selves of consciousness, sensation,
perception, and predispositions, and the saint who has attained has
detached himself even in this life from belief that these are himself—his
ego. How then should it be that the essential perishes when these
dissolve with the dying brain in death? Yet has this wicked heresy been
spread, though clear as day must it be made to those who tread the way
that it is a lie and no truth.
For thus have I heard. After the death of the Perfected One, the King
of Kosala, journeying from Savatthi, met with the learned nun Khema,
renowned for wisdom, and the King, respectfully saluting her, asked her
of the Teaching.
“Venerable Lady, the Perfect One is dead. Does he exist after death?”
“Great King, the Exalted One has not declared that he exists after
death.”
“Then, venerable Lady, does the Perfect One not exist.”
“The Perfect One has not declared that he does not exist after death.”
“But, venerable Lady,—does and does not? How is this possible?”
And, smiling a little, the learned nun replied:
“Great King, have you an accountant or a mint-master who could
count the sands of Ganges and lay the figure before you?”
“Venerable Lady, no.”
“Or who could measure the drops in the ocean?”
“Again no, venerable Lady.”
“And why? Because the ocean is deep, immeasurable, unfathomable.
So also is it if the existence of the Perfect One be measured by any
human category, for all statements of bodily form are abolished in the
Perfect One; their root is severed; they are done with and can germinate
no more. The Perfect One is released from the possibility that his being
can be gauged in any human terms. He is now deep, immeasurable and
unfathomable as the ocean, and neither the terms of existence or of non-
existence as understood by the world fit him any more.”
Then there was a long silence and the King having heard the nun
Khema’s words with approbation, rose and bowed reverently before her
and went his way.
Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor can the tongue tell of such
matters for they are beyond and above us. And it is for this reason that
the Blessed One replied thus to the venerable Malukya, when he
reproached the Perfect One as follows:
“Is the world eternal or the slave of time? Does the World-Honoured
live on beyond death? It pleases me not at all that all these important
matters should remain unanswered. May it please the Master to answer
them if he can. And if he does not know let him say so plainly.”
But the Master replied with his smile:
“Did I say to you, Malukya,—‘Come and be my disciple, and I will
teach you whether the world is everlasting or finite, whether the vital
faculty is separate from the body or one with it, whether the Exalted One
lives or does not live after death?’ Did I promise all this?”
“No, sir, you did not.”
“And, Malukya, if a man is struck by a poisoned arrow, suppose he
says—‘I will never allow my wound to be treated until I know who shot
the arrow—was it a man of high or low caste. And I must know whether
he is tall or short, and how his bow and arrows are made!’—Would this
be a sensible proceeding? Surely no. He would die of his wounds.
“Why have I not made these things clear? Because the knowledge of
them does not conduce to holiness nor right detachment, nor to peace
and enlightenment.—What is needed for these I teach, the truth of
suffering and its origin, the truth of the Way to its cessation. Therefore
let what I have not revealed rest, and follow that which I have revealed.”
And Malukya was content, knowing at last that in this life these
questions are deep, mysterious and unanswerable, and the sole way to
their understanding is to live the life, untroubled by controversy and
dogma on such things as cannot be uttered in terms of human
knowledge.
For there is a Knowledge veiled in excess of light which dazzles the
eyes to blindness. Let words be few. Let good deeds be many. He
understands it for whom it passes thought. Who thinks of it can never
know it. And if it could be told in words it would not be the Truth.
And there is yet another example of this. For once in early days the
Blessed One sat high among his own upon the Peak of Vultures, and
there came before his quiet feet a Shining One and laid there a golden
flower, praying that he would speak and in sweet speech instruct them of
the innermost of the Peace. The Blessed One received the golden flower
within his hand and sat in utter calm but spoke no word and all the
Assembly mused what this might mean, and, musing, could not know.
But at long last, Kassapa the Great smiled, also in silence, and the
Blessed One said softly:
“I hold within my heart the Treasure of the Law, the wondrous
knowledge that is the Peace. This have I given to Kassapa wordless, and
wordless he has seen and known.”
So passes the vision from heart to heart. But words cannot tell it to
the brain.