The Buddha's Early Followers - AMBAPALI: The Courtesan Who Became A Nun

Exploring the Lives of Shakyamuni Buddha’s Disciples and Their Struggles:

 Who were Shakyamuni Buddha’s followers? Let us look at well-known ordained and lay disciples who also struggled with ignorance, greed, and anger.

Ambapali: The Courtesan Who Became a Nun

To the north of Rajagaha, the capital of Magadha, was the city of Vesali, the capital of the Vajji confederation, which ranked with Magadha in power. As a baby, Ambapali had been abandoned under a tree in a garden outside the city of Vesali. Her parentage was unknown. The gardener who discovered her named her Ambapali, meaning "she who was born beneath the amba [mango] tree." The child grew into an extraordinarily beautiful woman, with glowing skin, long black hair, and large eyes. Her beauty became famous throughout the region, and an endless stream of young men, both from the city and from far away, came to seek her hand in marriage. Princes and rich men's sons vied with one another for her favor. The elders of Vesali, concerned that fighting would break out among Ambapali's many suitors, decided to make her a city courtesan to satisfy everyone and generate revenue for the city.

Courtesans were beautiful and accomplished women who entertained their customers with a variety of skills. They were important to the economy of Vesal, where men of many lands gathered to trade. They lived in fine mansions, and they lived lives of luxury. Soon, people everywhere knew of Ambapali, the courtesan, beautiful, charming, and clever. Drawn by her reputation, many came to see her: citizens of Vesali, of course, but also princes and rich men from surrounding kingdoms. Stunned by a beauty and charm surpassing their expectations, they poured out their wealth to win her heart.

The number of rich men who chose to come to Vesali to trade grew by the day, and soon Ambapali was living in a splendid mansion, surrounded by servants who saw to her every need. She also acquired a large orchard just outside the city. And yet Ambapali found herself prey to anxiety. "The noblemen are in love with my beauty, and the rich gladly give me their treasures. Why, then, am I so uneasy?" she wondered. Pondering the reason, she realized that it stemmed from a deep fear that she would someday lose her charms: "It's for my beauty that people love me and give me these treasures, but one day that beauty will be gone.

Soon after, Ambapali began to be tormented by such thoughts, and she learned that Shakyamuni had arrived from Magadha with his disciples on his way north and was staying in her orchard outside Vesali. Some years earlier, there had been an epidemic in the city. Shakyamuni and his disciples, who had been visiting the city at the time, had devoted themselves to caring for the sick. As a result of their efforts, many had been saved, and since then, the people of Vesali had been devout followers of Shakyamuni.

Hearing that Shakyamuni had come, people rushed to the orchard. Ambapali, too, having bathed and purified her body, hurriedly set out with her servants, riding in a carriage decorated with gold fittings and fresh flowers. She arrived as Shakyamuni was preaching: "Everything in this world is unstable and impermanent, yet people constantly try to hold on to other people and to things. It is because of this attachment that sorrow arises. To gain release from such sorrow, one should perform works of charity and observe the precepts. Thus, one may obtain a favorable rebirth in the heavens."

Ambapali trembled as she heard Shakyamuni explain the necessity of making offerings to gain release from the desire to grasp things that are by nature impermanent. Imbued with new hope, she wished she could be with Shakyamuni forever. Reverently, she approached him and asked, "World-honored One, I am Ambapali, the courtesan. Will you deign to grant the request of a lowly woman like me? I would be honored if you would visit my home tomorrow morning and allow me to present offerings of food to you and your disciples. I am eager to hear more of your profound teachings." Ambapali was filled with awe as she spoke, but Shakyamuni smiled gently and agreed to her request.

Ambapali was overjoyed at the thought that the Buddha had accepted an invitation from someone like her. She left at once to prepare the food, urging her driver to hurry. When they had gone halfway, they came upon several richly decorated carriages approaching from the opposite direction. The local princes, having heard of Shakyamuni's visit, were hurrying to the orchard hoping to catch a glimpse of him, while Ambapali and her retinue were rushing home to prepare offerings for the following morning. The two groups collided in the middle of the road.

The princes leaped from their carriages and surrounded Ambapali's, accusing her of causing the accident and demanding payment for the damage done. But when they realized that the beautiful woman who stood before them, apologizing so politely, was the courtesan Ambapali, they calmed down and spoke more temperately. Ambapali explained that she was in such a hurry because Shakyamuni had agreed to accept food offerings at her home the following morning. She wanted to reach home as quickly as possible and begin preparations for his visit.

At this news, the princes again became very excited. One said, "What! You mean it's already been decided that Shakyamuni will breakfast at your house tomorrow? That won't do! We had planned to invite Shakyamuni to accept our offerings tomorrow morning. That's why we're hurrying to the orchard. Ambapali, there's no need for you to pay for the damage to our carriages, but we'd like you to let us entertain Shakyamuni tomorrow in your stead."

"Oh, no! I'm very sorry to have to refuse your request, but I just cannot agree."

The princes would not give up, however, and pressed her even harder. One said, "Ambapali, let us entertain the Buddha, and we will give you a thousand pieces of gold. No, wait! We will give you half our fortunes if only you will agree." The princes were sure a courtesan would give in if only she were offered enough money.

But Ambapali flatly refused. "No. Even if you offered me all the treasures in this city, I could not agree to your request." She said this because she knew that the doctrine Shakyamuni taught was uniquely precious, and that nothing in the world was more important than following his teachings and accruing merit by making offerings to the Buddha and the Sangha.

Thus, Ambapali resisted the princes' inducements and entertained the Buddha and his disciples the next morning. After receiving the offerings, the Buddha explained to her how suffering arises and how it can be destroyed. Listening to him, Ambapali realized how mistaken her way of life was-taking pride in her physical beauty and relying on the acquisition of worldly wealth to bring happiness. Vowing to revere the Three Treasures of the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha, to observe the precepts, and to lead a virtuous life, Ambapali offered her orchard to the Buddha and the Sangha as a retreat. Then she was instructed to keep the five precepts of the lay Buddhist: not to take life, not to steal, not to indulge in sexual misconduct, not to lie, and not to drink intoxicants.

Soon thereafter, Ambapali requested admission to the Sangha. The rest of her life was devoted to the difficult search for true enlightenment under the Buddha's guidance. As a nun, she composed the following passage, recorded in the Therigatha, expressing her understanding of the Buddha's teaching in relation to her own earlier experience as a courtesan: "Once my hair was beautiful, adorned with gold, fragrant and soft, well plaited. Now, because of old age, it has fallen out. There is no error in the words of the speaker of truth...

"Once my eyes were dark blue and long, shining brilliantly like jewels. Now, because of old age, they have lost their luster. There is no error in the words of the speaker of truth...

“Once my teeth were beautiful, the color of the buds of the plantain. Now, because of old age, they are broken and yellowish, like grains of wheat. There is no error in the words of the speaker of truth.

"Once my voice was sweet, like that of a cuckoo flying around in the forest. Now, because of old age, it falters. There is no error in the words of the speaker of truth…

"Once my body was beautiful, like a burnished sheet of gold. Now, because of old age, it is covered with fine wrinkles. There is no error in the words of the speaker of truth...

"Thu, this body, an aggregate of elements, has grown old and is the abode of many sufferings. It is a decayed house whose plaster has fallen off. There is no error in the words of the speaker of truth."

This article is based on Disciples of the Buddha, edited by Zenno Ishigami (Kosei Publishing Co., 1989).