Upagupta and the Courtesans

On Charity

This life is short; the vanities of the world are transient. They only live who live for others. The rest are more dead than alive.

——SWAMI VIVEKANANDA, THE COMPLETE WORKS OF SWAMI VIVEKANANDA

Upagupta was a Buddhist monk who lived between 100 B.C.E. and 300 C.E. A for­est hermit and a renowned preacher in the region of Mathura in Northern India, Upagupta attracted many disciples. The ancient Chinese traveler Hsuan-Tsang brought the story of Upagupta to China, where it spread to the Far East. Two thousand years after his passing, he is still venerated in India and parts of Asia

UPAGUPTA AND THE COURTESANS

"To those who need help harvesting, I will work in the fields with you. To those who are sick, I will care for you. To those who want to follow the way of the Buddha, let us study the Sutras.

With these words, the wandering monk Upagupta would announce his arrival at every new village he chanced upon. After a few days of living among the men and women of the world, he would set out whither he knew not where, his only companions the sun and the stars.

On this day, Upagupta had walked many miles under a scorching sun and at dusk was still far from the nearest town and the hospitality of a charitable stranger. He sought refuge in a shady grove of banyan trees and cooled himself in a stream. As the sun retreated from the heavens, he lay down on a soft patch of grass and fell asleep to a jungle symphony of twittering parrots and monkeys.

The tinkle of anklet bells and the rustle of silk awoke Upagupta from his slumber. Vasavadatta, a beautiful dancing girl, stumbled over him in the gathering twilight. She began to laugh once she could see that she had tripped over a sleep­ing monk.

All the allures of the flesh were in full bloom in Vasavadatta. Her eyes sparkled with intoxicated youth still untouched by suffering. Raven-black hair cascaded in ringlets down her back. Her skin was as smooth as satin, and her smile was that of one who had drunk deeply of pleasure.

After apologizing for waking him, Vasavadatta said, "Upagupta, I see you wear saffron robes. Please do not tell me that you are a monk who deprives himself of life's de­lights!"

"It is true," Upagupta chuckled. "I have renounced a home and possessions to find lasting joy."

"What a shame! You are so young and handsome. Do you know that in an instant you will be old and feeble? What then if you haven't found what you are searching for? You will look back at your life and feel bitter for having wasted it in fruitless prayer."

She took his hand and in a rush of excitement continued. "Why don't you come with me to town? Together we can feast and drink and dance. Doesn't that sound more attractive than your fasting and penances?" She wondered if the monk's resolve wavered for a moment.

"Tonight I must meditate," Upagupta firmly replied, al­though he found her captivating. "For the Buddha says, 'Whoever follows the Dharma is joyful here and joyful there. In both worlds he rejoices.'

"While you dream of other worlds, I will gladly take what this one has to offer," Vasavadatta said. Smitten by this hand­some and resolute man, she excitedly continued, "One last time, Upagupta, please come to town with me!"

"No, not now," he replied with the finality of a man whose mind would not be changed. An inexplicable swell of sadness for Vasavadatta filled him, and he ached to save this carefree butterfly from being caught in the destructive net of desire. "I promise, though, I will come for you another time when you need me."

"Why would I ever need a monk?" said Vasavadatta. And with that, she skipped into the night, leaving a trail of giggles behind her.

Many years had passed since the old monk Upagupta had walked on this same stretch of road. He had come to under­stand much during his pilgrimages across India. His mind was now unalterably fixed on the Buddha, and when he spoke, his words -were suffused with the wisdom of one who knows.

"Ah, I remember this grove of banyan trees!" thought Upagupta. "I had slept here once after traveling all day. And then I was awoken by that young dancing girl."

A mysterious impulse bade him to enter the woods. As he wandered about, he heard the pitiful moans of one in great pain. He hurried toward the cries and found an elderly woman in tattered rags that barely clothed her body. Terrible sores covered her skin. Her hands were shriveled claws. A few stumps were all that were left of her teeth.

"Vasavadatta!" Upagupta exclaimed as he recognized the once-attractive dancing girl. Her beauty had long ago fled with the arrival of disease.

In the same stream in which Upagupta had cooled himself on that hot summer day many years ago, he now washed Vasavadatta. Placing her head in his lap, he stroked her brittle hair.

"All my lovers have deceived me with false declarations of affection. Now everyone despises me. I have led a very evil life." Vasavadatta stared into the monk's calm eyes as she tried to remember his dimly familiar features. "How is it that you have taken pity on me? I deserve contempt, not compassion. Are you the Buddha Himself? You must be, because none other would help such an ugly old creature."

"You need to rest now. Be quiet."

"Who are you?" Vasavadatta pleaded between sobs. It had been many years since anyone had shown her even the small­est kindness.

"I am Upagupta, your friend," the old monk said, all ten­derness. "Do you remember me? You asked me to go with you to town, and I promised that I would come for you later. Now I am here.

"Though the world has forsaken you and desire has be­trayed you, the Buddha in his unending compassion will be with you life after life until you complete your sojourn on the muddy and treacherous road of illusion.”