Therīgāthā — Versos das Monjas Anciãs — 6.1 — Five Hundred Students of Paṭācārā

1“One whose path you do not know,
not whence they came nor where they went;
though they came from who knows where,
you mourn that being, crying, ‘Oh my son!’

2But one whose path you do know,
whence they came or where they went;
that one you do not lament—
such is the nature of living creatures.

3Unasked he came,
he left without leave.
He must have come from somewhere,
and stayed who knows how many days.
He left from here by one road,
he will go from there by another.

4Departing with the form of a human,
he will go on transmigrating.
As he came, so he went:
why weep over that?”

5“Oh! For you have plucked the arrow from me,
so hard to see, stuck in the heart.
You’ve swept away the grief for my son,
in which I once was mired.

6Today I’ve plucked the arrow,
I’m hungerless, quenched.
I go for refuge to that sage, the Buddha,
to his teaching, and to the Saṅgha.”

7That is how five hundred nuns declared their enlightenment.