Sa Di La Kinh

In ancient times there was a young boy named Samidala, only seven years of age, yet whose heart delighted in virtue. He became the disciple of a śramaṇa who dwelt in the mountains. Samidala always acted in accordance with what his master taught him, reciting the scriptures and the Dharma without ever growing slothful.

When he reached eight years of age, he attained Arhatship. His Dharma-eye was pure, able to see through to the boundless; his ears could hear throughout the infinite, so that all the good and evil deeds done everywhere between heaven and earth he heard and knew. His body could fly wherever he wished, and he could also divide his body, transforming one body into ten thousand bodies, manifesting transformations at will, with nothing he could not accomplish.

He knew of himself whence he had been born in former lives; all people and things, down to the creeping creatures and the various kinds of insects, Samidala knew them all.

One day, as Samidala sat, he beheld again his former lives, in which he had been the son of five mothers, and he smiled to himself. Just then his master turned around and asked:

"Why do you smile? Here in this mountain there is no singing and dancing, so are you smiling at me?"

Samidala replied:

"Venerable master! I would not dare smile at you. I was only smiling at myself.

I recalled that in former lives a single spirit-soul received bodies and became the son of five mothers. Those five mothers, on account of me, wept day and night, grieving and suffering beyond endurance, ever saying that they longed for their child and would never forget him. I thought to myself: that this single body of mine should bring such grief and suffering to five households—and so I smiled at myself, and did not dare smile at you!

When I was the son of the first mother, at that time the household next door also gave birth to a child on the very same day as me. After I died, that child born on the same day went about, coming and going, in and out. When my mother saw him, she said: 'How I long for my child!

If he were still alive, he too would go about coming and going like this.' Out of longing and grief, my mother wept like rain.

When I was the son of the second mother: at that time I was short-lived and died young. When my mother saw someone nursing her child, she remembered nursing me in former days, and grew sorrowful with longing and grief-stricken affection.

When I was the son of the third mother: at that time I was just ten years old, and after I died, whenever she ate her meal, my mother would weep with sorrow, saying: 'If my child were still alive, he would eat his meal together with me. Now he has abandoned me and gone, leaving me to eat all alone.' Then she would sob and cry out to heaven, mournfully declaring that she longed for her child without end.

When I was the son of the fourth mother: because my life-span was thin and I died before her, when my mother saw others of my age going to take wives, she grieved with longing and said: 'If my child were still alive now, he too would be going to take a wife. What sin have I committed, that my child should be slain?'

When I was the son of the fifth mother: when I was just seven years old, because I delighted in the Way, I forsook the household life, left my mother, and followed a master into the mountains to seek the Way; with one-pointed mind I contemplated and attained the fruit of Arhatship. Day after day, my mother wept, longing for me and saying: 'I bore but a single child, and yet he has followed a master to study the Way. I know not where he is, nor whether he hungers or thirsts, nor whether he is hot or cold—is he now alive or dead?'

Then the five mothers gathered together in one place, all of them sorrowfully saying that they ever longed for their children, weeping ceaselessly without rest.

I, a single spirit-soul, successively became the son born of five mothers; relying upon parents I received form and became a person, causing the five mothers to weep and grieve and suffer utterly, so that out of excessive longing for their child they no longer wished to live. For these reasons I smiled.

I thought: the world, on account of the net of desire, gives rise to birth and death, to sin and merit, creating the source of all the formations. Doing evil, one falls into the hells; doing good, one is born into the heavens. Fearing the suffering of the world, I forsook the household life, entered the mountains, diligently cultivated meditative concentration, attained the Way, and realized the fruit.

Beholding the various torments and agonies in the hells, among the hungry ghosts, and among the animals, I was greatly afraid. I have compassion for the five mothers, yet they cannot deliver themselves, and I too am anxious about my own body. I make this vow: that my deeds may accord with my words, that I may forever depart from birth and death, sever the root of the body, and—like one who no longer sows and creates karma—turn toward Nirvāṇa."

Having finished speaking these words to his master, Samidala then flew up into empty space.