Queen Samavati

Embodiment of Loving-Kindness

In the days when India was the fortunate home of an Awakened One, a husband and wife lived within its borders with their only daughter named Sāmāvatī, who was exceedingly beautiful. Their family life was a happy and harmonious one. But then one day disaster struck: pestilence broke out in their hometown, and the couple, along with their grown- up daughter, fled from the area.18They headed for Kosambi, the capital of the kingdom of Vaṃsa in the Ganges Valley, intending to seek support from her father’s old friend Ghosaka, a finance minister of the king. Within the city the municipality had erected a public alms hall for the refugees. There the daughter, Sāmāvatī, went to obtain food. The first day she took three portions, the second day two portions, and on the third day only one portion. Mitta, the man who was distributing the food, could not resist asking her, somewhat ironically, whether she had finally realized the capacity of her stomach. Sāmāvatī replied quite calmly:

“On the first day there were three of us, my parents and myself. That day my father succumbed to the plague, and so on the second day I needed food for only two people; after the meal my mother died, and so today I now need food for myself alone.”

The official felt ashamed of his sarcastic remark and wholeheartedly begged her forgiveness. A long conversation ensued, and when he found out that she was now all alone in the world, he proposed to adopt her as his foster child. She was happy to accept.

Sāmāvatī immediately began helping her foster father with the distribution of the food and the care of the refugees. Thanks to her efficiency and circumspection, the former chaos became channeled into orderly activity. Nobody tried to get ahead of others anymore, nobody quarreled, and everyone was content.

Soon Ghosaka, the king’s finance minister, became aware that the public food distribution was taking place without noise and tumult. When he expressed his praise and appreciation to the food distributor, the official replied modestly that his foster daughter was mainly responsible for this. In this way Ghosaka met Sāmāvatī, the orphaned daughter of his late friend, and he was so impressed with her noble bearing that he decided to adopt her as his own daughter. His manager consented, even if somewhat woefully, because he did not want to stand in the way of Sāmāvatī’s fortune. So Ghosaka took her into his house. Thereby she became heiress of a vast estate and mixed with the most exalted circles of the land.

The king, who was living in Kosambi at that time, was named Udena. He had two chief consorts. One was Vāsuladattā, whom he had married both for political reasons and because she was very beautiful. The second was Māgandiyā, who was beautiful and clever but cold and self-centered. Neither could offer the king the warmth of loving affection and emotional contentment that he craved.

One day King Udena met the charming adopted daughter of his finance minister and fell in love with her at first sight. He felt magically attracted by her loving and generous nature. Sāmāvatī had exactly what was missing in both his other wives. King Udena sent a messenger to Ghosaka asking him to give Sāmāvatī to him in marriage. Ghosaka was thrown into an emotional upheaval. On the one hand, he loved Sāmāvatī above all else, and she had become indispensable to him. She was the delight of his life. On the other, he knew his king’s temperament and was afraid to deny him his request. But in the end his attachment to Sāmāvatī won and he thought:

“Better to die than to live without her.”

As usual, King Udena lost his temper. In his fury he dismissed Ghosaka from his post as finance minister, banned him from his kingdom, and did not allow Sāmāvatī to accompany him. He took over his minister’s property and locked up his magnificent mansion. Sāmāvatī was desolate that Ghosaka had to suffer so much on her account and had lost not only her but also his home and belongings. Out of compassion for her adopted father, to whom she was devoted with great gratitude, she decided to make an end to this dispute by voluntarily becoming the king’s wife. She went to the palace and informed the king of her decision. The king was immediately appeased and restored Ghosaka to his former position, also rescinding all other measures against him.

Because Sāmāvatī had great love for everyone, she had so much inner strength that this decision was not a difficult one for her. It was not important to her where she lived: whether in the house of the finance minister as his favourite daughter, or in the palace as the favourite wife of the king, or in obscurity as when she was in the house of her parents, or as a poor refugee—she always found peace in her own heart and was happy regardless of outer circumstances.

Sāmāvatī’s life at the royal court fell into a harmonious pattern. Among her servants there was one, named Khujjuttarā, who was outwardly ugly and ill formed but otherwise very capable. Every day the queen gave her eight gold coins to buy flowers for the women’s quarters of the palace. But Khujjuttarā always bought only four coins’ worth of flowers and used the remaining four coins for herself. One day, when she went to buy flowers for her mistress, the florist informed her that this day he had invited the Buddha and his order of monks for a meal, and he urged Khujjuttarā to participate. Following the meal the Buddha gave a discourse to his hosts, and as he spoke his words went directly to Khujjuttarā’s heart. Listening with total attention, tranquil and uplifted, she took in every word as though it was intended just for her, and by the time the Buddha concluded his talk she had attained the path and fruit of stream-entry. Without quite knowing what had happened to her, she had become a totally changed person, one endowed with unwavering faith in the Triple Gem and incapable of violating the basic laws of morality. The whole world, which had always seemed so obvious and real to her, now appeared as a dream.

The first thing she did after this spectacular inner transformation was to buy flowers for all of the eight coins, deeply regretting her former dishonesty. When the queen asked her why there were suddenly so many flowers, Khujjuttarā fell at the queen’s feet and confessed her theft. After Sāmāvatī forgave her magnanimously, Khujjuttarā told her what was closest to her heart, namely, that she had heard a discourse by the Buddha which had changed her life. She could not be specific about the contents of the Teaching, but Sāmāvatī could see for herself what a wholesome and healing impact it had made on her servant. She appointed Khujjuttarā her personal attendant and told her to visit the monastery every day to listen to the Dhamma and then repeat it to her and the other women of the palace. Khujjuttarā had an outstanding memory, and what she had heard only once she could repeat verbatim. Each day, when she returned from the monastery, the high-bred women of the palace would place her on a high seat, as if she were the Buddha himself, and sitting down below they would listen devotedly to the discourse. Later on Khujjuttarā made a collection of the short discourses she had heard from the Buddha, which became the book of the Pāli Canon now called the Itivuttaka (The Buddha’s Sayings), composed of 112 suttas in mixed prose and verse.

When King Udena once again told his beloved Sāmāvatī that she could wish for anything and he would fulfil it, she wished that the Buddha would come to the palace daily to have his food there and propound his doctrine. The king’s courier took the message of this perpetual invitation to the Buddha, but he declined and instead sent Ānanda. From then on the Venerable Ānanda went to the palace daily for his meal and afterwards gave a Dhamma discourse. The queen had already been well prepared by Khujjuttarā’s reports, and within a short time she understood the meaning and attained to stream-entry, just as her maid-servant had done.

Now, through their common understanding of the Dhamma, the queen and the maid became equals. Within a short time, the Teaching spread through the whole of the women’s quarters and there was hardly anyone who did not become a disciple of the Awakened One. Even Sāmāvatī’s stepfather, the finance minister Ghosaka, was deeply touched by the Teaching. He donated a large monastery in Kosambi to the Sangha, so that the monks would have a secure and satisfying shelter when they came to the city. Every time the Buddha visited Kosambi he stayed in this monastery, named Ghositārāma, and other monks and holy people also found shelter there.

Through the influence of the Dhamma, Sāmāvatī became determined to develop her abilities more intensively. Her most important asset was the way she could feel sympathy for all beings and could suffuse everyone with loving-kindness and compassion. She was able to develop this faculty so strongly that the Buddha called her the woman lay disciple most skilled in spreading mettā, “loving-kindness” (AN 1, chap. 14).

This all-pervading love was soon to be tested severely in her relationship with the second main consort of the king, Māgandiyā.

This woman was imbued with virulent hatred against everything Buddhist. Some years earlier her father had met the Buddha, and it had seemed to him that the handsome ascetic was the most worthy candidate to marry his daughter. In his naive ignorance of the rules of monks, he offered his daughter to the Buddha as his wife.

Māgandiyā was very beautiful and her hand had already been sought by many suitors, but the Buddha declined the offer with a single verse about the unattractiveness of the body (Sn v. 835). This verse wounded Māgandiyā’s vanity, but it had such a profound impact on her parents that right on the spot they realized the fruit of non- returning. Māgandiyā took the Buddha’s rejection of her as a personal insult and came to harbour a bitter hatred against him, a hatred she could never overcome. Later her parents brought her to King Udena, who fell in love with her at first sight and took her as his wife. When he took a third wife, she could willingly accept this, as it was customary for the kings of the period to maintain several wives. But that Sāmāvatī had become a disciple of the Buddha and had converted the other women in the palace to the Dhamma—this she could not tolerate. Her hatred of everything connected with the Buddha now turned against Sāmāvatī as his representative.

Māgandiyā thought up one mean deed after another, and her sharp intelligence served only to conjure up new misdeeds. First she told the king that Sāmāvatī was trying to take his life. But the king was well aware of Sāmāvatī’s great love for all beings, so that he did not even consider this accusation seriously, barely listened to it, and forgot it almost immediately. Next, Māgandiyā ordered one of her maid- servants to spread rumors about the Buddha and his monks in Kosambi, so that Sāmāvatī would also be maligned. With this she was more successful. A wave of aversion struck the whole Order to such an extent that Ānanda suggested to the Buddha that they leave town. The Buddha smiled and said that the purity of the monks would silence all rumors within a week. Hardly had King Udena heard the gossip leveled against the Order than it had already subsided. Māgandiyā’s second attempt against Sāmāvatī had failed.

Some time later Māgandiyā had eight specially selected chickens sent to the king and suggested that Sāmāvatī should kill them and prepare them for a meal. Sāmāvatī refused to do this, as she would not kill any living beings. Since the king knew of her all-embracing love, he did not lose his temper, but accepted her decision. Māgandiyā then tried for a fourth time to harm Sāmāvatī. Just prior to the week which King Udena was to spend with Sāmāvatī, Māgandiyā hid a poisonous snake in Sāmāvatī’s chambers, but the poison sacs had been removed. When King Udena discovered the snake, all evidence pointed towards Sāmāvatī. His passionate fury made him lose all control. He reached for his bow and arrow and shot at Sāmāvatī, but through the power of her loving- kindness the arrow rebounded from her without doing any harm. His hatred could not influence her loving concern for him, which protected her life like an invisible shield.

When King Udena regained his equilibrium and saw the miracle— that his arrow could not harm Sāmāvatī—he was deeply shaken. He begged her forgiveness and was even more convinced of her nobility and faithfulness. He became interested in the teaching that had given such strength to his wife. Just about this time a famous monk named Piṇḍola Bhāradvāja came to stay at the Ghosita Monastery. The king visited him and discussed the Teaching with him. He inquired how the young monks could live the celibate life joyously, and Piṇḍola explained that according to the Buddha’s advice they did so by regarding women as their mothers, sisters, and daughters. At the end of the discourse, the king was so impressed that he took refuge in the Buddha and became a lay disciple (SN 35:127).

Sāmāvatī had been thinking about the wonders of the Dhamma and the intricacies of kammic influences. One thing had led to another: she had come to Kosambi as a poor refugee; then the food distributor had given her shelter; the finance minister had adopted her as his daughter; then she became the king’s wife; her maid-servant had brought the Teaching to her; and she became a disciple and a stream- enterer. Subsequently she spread the Dhamma to all the women in the palace, then to Ghosaka, and now lastly also to the king. How convincing truth was! Having reflected in this way, she permeated all beings with loving-kindness, wishing them happiness and peace.

The king now tried more determinedly to control his passionate nature and to subdue greed and hate. His talks with Sāmāvatī were very helpful to him in this respect. Slowly this development culminated in his losing all sexual craving when he was in Sāmāvatī’s company. He had become aware of her deep spirituality and related to her as a sister and friend rather than as a lover. While he was not free of sexual desire toward his other wives, he was willing to let Sāmāvatī continue unhindered on her path to emancipation. Soon she attained to the stage of once-returner and drew nearer and nearer to that of non-returner, an attainment which many laypeople could achieve in those days.

Māgandiyā had suspended her attacks for some time, but she continued to ponder how to take vengeance against Sāmāvatī. After much brooding, she hatched a plan with some of her relatives, whom she had won to her point of view by cunning and calumny. She proposed to kill Sāmāvatī by setting the whole women’s palace on fire in such a way that it would appear to be an accident. The plan was worked out in all details. Māgandiyā left town some time beforehand, so that no suspicion could fall on her.

This arson resulted in sky-high flames which demolished the wooden palace totally. All the women residing in it were killed, including Sāmāvatī. The news of this disaster spread around town very quickly, and no other topic of conversation could be heard. Several monks, who had not been ordained very long, were also affected by the agitation, and after their alms round they went to the Buddha and inquired what would be the future rebirth of these women lay disciples with Sāmāvatī as their leader.

The Awakened One calmed their excited hearts and diverted their curiosity by answering very briefly:

“Among these women, monks, some were stream-enterers, some were once-returners, and some were non-returners. None of these lay disciples had died destitute of the noble fruits” (Ud 7: 10).

The Buddha mentioned here the first three fruits of the Dhamma: stream-entry, once-returner, and non-returner. All these disciples were safe from rebirth below the human realm, and each one was securely bound for the final goal of total liberation. This was the most important aspect of their lives and deaths and the Buddha would not go into detail. At a later time, when the monks were discussing how unjust it was that these faithful disciples should die such a terrible death, the Buddha explained to them that the women experienced this because of a joint deed they had committed many lifetimes ago. Once, when Sāmāvatī had been queen of Benares, she had gone with her ladies—in-waiting to bathe, and feeling cold, she had asked that a bush be burned to give some warmth. Only too late she saw that a paccekabuddha was sitting immobile within the bush. Although he was not harmed, the women did not know this and feared that they would be blamed for having made a fire without due caution. Thereupon Sāmāvatī had the deluded idea to pour oil over this ascetic who was sitting in total absorption, so that burning him would obliterate their mistake. This plan could not succeed, but the evil intention and attempted murder had to bear fruit, and it was in this lifetime that the result had ripened.

The Buddha declared that one of the favourable results of the practice of loving-kindness is that fire, poison, and weapons cannot harm the practitioner. This has to be understood to mean that during the actual emanation of loving-kindness the one who radiates this quality cannot be hurt, as Sāmāvatī proved when the king’s arrow did not penetrate her. But at other times the practitioner is vulnerable. Sāmāvatī had become a non-returner and was therefore free of all sensual desire and hate and of all identification with her body. It was only her body that was burnt by the fire, not her inner being. Her soft, radiant heart, imbued with love and compassion, was unassailable and untouched by the fire. It is rare for one of the saintly disciples to be murdered or for a Buddha to be threatened with murder, and equally rare is it for one perfected in metta and a non-returner to die a violent death. All three types of persons, however, have in common that their hearts can no longer be swayed by such violence.

Sāmāvatī’s last words were:

“It would not be an easy matter, even with the knowledge of a Buddha, to determine exactly the number of times our bodies have thus been burnt with fire as we have passed from birth to birth in the beginningless round of existence. Therefore, be heedful!”

Stirred by these words, the ladies of the court meditated on painful feeling and thereby gained the noble paths and fruits.

Referring to the tragedy at Kosambi, the Buddha spoke the following inspirational verse to the monks:

The world is held in bondage by delusion

And only appears to be capable.

To a fool, held in bondage by his acquisitions,

Enveloped in a mass of darkness,

It appears as if it were eternal;

But for one who sees there is nothing.

(Ud 7:10)

King Udena was overwhelmed with grief at Sāmāvatī’s death and kept brooding about who could be the perpetrator of this ghastly deed. He came to the conclusion that it must have been Māgandiyā. He did not want to question her directly because he knew that she would deny it. So he thought of a ruse. He said to his ministers:

“Until now I have always been apprehensive, because Sāmāvatī was forever seeking an occasion to slay me. But now I shall be able to sleep in peace.”

The ministers asked the king who it could have been that had done this deed.

“Only someone who really loves me,” the king replied. Māgandiyā had been standing nearby and when she heard that, she came forward and proudly admitted that she alone was responsible for the fire and the death of the women and Sāmāvatī. The king said that he would grant her and all her relatives a boon for this.

When all the relatives were assembled, the king had them burnt publicly and then had the earth ploughed under so that all traces of the ashes were destroyed. He had Māgandiyā executed as a mass- murderess, which was his duty and responsibility, but his fury knew no bounds and he still looked for revenge. He had her killed with utmost cruelty. She died an excruciating death, which was only a foretaste of the tortures awaiting her in the nether world, after which she would have to roam in saṃsāra for a long, long time to come.

Soon King Udena regretted his cruel, revengeful deed. Again and again he saw Sāmāvatī’s face in front of him, full of love for all beings, even for her enemies. He felt that by his violent fury he had removed himself from her even further than her death had done. He began to control his temper more and more and to follow the Buddha’s teachings ardently.

Meanwhile Sāmāvatī had been reborn in the Pure Abodes, where she would be able to reach Nibbāna without ever returning from that world. The different results of love and hate could be seen with exemplary clarity in the lives and deaths of these two queens. When one day the monks were discussing who was alive and who dead, the Buddha said that Māgandiyā while living was dead already, while Sāmāvatī, though dead, was truly alive. Then he spoke these verses:

Heedfulness is the path to the Deathless,

Heedlessness is the path to death.

The heedful ones do not die;

The heedless are likened to the dead.

The wise then, recognizing this

As the distinction of heedfulness,

In heedfulness rejoice, delighting

In the realm of the noble ones.

The steadfast meditate persistently,

Constantly they firmly strive,

Aspiring to reach Nibbāna,

The unexcelled security from bonds.

(Dhp 21–23)

The Buddha declared Sāmāvatī to be foremost among those female lay disciples who dwell in loving-kindness (mettā).

(From the book: GREAT DISCIPLES OF THE BUDDHA – NYANAPONIKA THERA AND HELMUTH HECKER , Edited with an Introduction by BHIKKHU BODHI)