Now another voice from near the back of the group: “But women can be so attractive, Tathagata.”
“Indeed they can, bikkhu, very attractive and very tempting. Here is the story of another previous lifetime, relating to that very point. This story is called ‘Goblin Town.’ Once I was a flying horse with a bird’s head. I was named ‘Cloud Horse.’” (GTJAT; PP 1)
“Did you say you were a flying horse with a bird’s head, Tathagata?”
“That’s exactly what I said, Anuruddha. As Cloud Horse, I lived near an island which was populated entirely by women. These women lured shipwrecked men to the island by telling them that they wanted the men to be their husbands. What these women wanted, in fact, was to eat the men. But do you know who saved the men from these she-demons?”
“You, Tathagata?”
“Correct, Anuruddha, me. I flew over the island and called down to the men, ‘Who wants to be saved?’ The ones who answered yes, I took home. The others, well, I left them to be eaten by the women. So tell me—what is the moral of this story, bikkhus?”
After a brief pause and some sidelong glances: “That Cloud Horse will save you, Tathagata?”
“No, Vappa, that is far too literal. The moral of the story is this: ‘Those who ignore the Buddha’s words will perish, while those who listen to the Buddha’s words will be saved.’” There was silence for a moment as I let this sink in. Then I lowered my voice. “I will not mince words with you, bikkhus: It would be better for your penis to go into the mouth of a poisonous snake or a pit of hot coals than into a woman, and do you know why? Because while the first two would definitely cause you to lose your penis, the third would cause you to lose your soul. This is what you must understand about women, monks: They want to give birth, giving birth is part of their defiled nature. But when they do give birth, what, I ask you, are they giving birth to? To pain and nothing else. Women are not your friends, bikkhus. Loathe them. They are sacks of filth … ogres … demons … hags.” (SZJ 24; IOU)
That night, as we were sipping our tea: “Master?
“Hm?”
“Why was that story called ‘Goblin Town’?”
“What?”
“Wouldn’t ‘Demon Island’ have made more sense? Or ‘The Story of Cloud Horse’? Was there even a goblin in the story?”
“You have, as always, completely missed the point, Ananda.”
“I’m so sorry, master.”
“Yes, well—apology not accepted.”
18
Not long after that, another female problem arose: My stepmother Prajapati showed up, wanting to join my sangha. “My son,” she murmured quietly as she entered my chamber and bowed down before me. (CV 10:1)
“Stepson,” I quickly responded
“ … What’s that?” she said, looking up at me with her weathered old face.
“Stepson. While I recognize that you were like a mother to me, you were not actually my mother. I am your stepson and you should call me that.”
“Do you know why I am here, Siddhartha?”
“I do and I am sorry, Aunt, but what you ask is simply not possible.”
“Why?”
“Women inspire lust in men, Aunt, and I will not allow lust to enter the sangha.”
“I am old, Siddhartha.”
“You are old, Aunt, that is certainly true. But not all women are old. Some are young and attractive and those women, I assure you, would quickly become dangerous to the sangha.”
“I beg of you, my son, as the woman who raised you—”
“Again, Aunt, please, stepson. Understand this is not in any way personal, it is simply that women are, how best to put this, defiled.”
“Women are human beings, Siddhartha, just like you.”
I quickly stood up. “I am sorry, Aunt, but I cannot honor your request. Good luck on your journey home.” With that, I turned and walked away from her. (ANG 8:51)
At first I thought I had handled my “woman problem” but the truth was that it was about to get much worse. Because not long afterwards Yasodhara sat before me. I stared at her in chilly silence for a long moment before she finally spoke.
“I have missed you, husband. We have both missed you, Rahula and I.”
“Ah yes. How is Rahula?”
“He is well, husband. He looks just like you.”
I nodded vaguely. A moment passed, then: “To get to the point here, Yasodhara, I understand that, like my aunt, you wish to join my sangha, is that correct?”
“Yes, husband.”
I studied her for a moment, stroked my chin. “How old are you now, Yasodhara?”
“Thirty-eight, husband.”
“You look quite well. Prajapati is old and ugly (her words, by the way, not mine), but you, Yasodhara, you would surely be a distraction within the sangha, whether you wished to be or not.”
“I would do anything to be near you, husband.”
“I’m sorry, Yasodhara, but the answer must be no. Good luck on your journey home.”
As I stood and started to exit the room, Yasodhara grabbed my arm. “You speak so much of compassion, husband, but will you show no compassion for me? Will you show no compassion for poor Rahula?” (MSV; ASV 9:28–34)
“Stop it, Yasodhara.”
“He searched for you endlessly, Siddhartha, haunting the palace every night and whimpering to himself, ‘Papa, where are you? Papa, please, where are you??’”
“The pain you are describing was caused merely by ignorance, Yasodhara.”
“How can you be so brutal, husband?”
“Calm yourself, Yasodhara.”
“You have hurt me, Siddhartha.”
“Life has hurt you, Yasodhara. Life hurts us all.”
“No, husband, you—YOU—you have hurt me.” I turned and started out of the room, but Yasodhara rose and followed me. “I was like a widow, Siddhartha, I cried for months, for years.” (LSV 8:31–9:35; BL)
“You need to calm down, Yasodhara. And please stop calling me Siddhartha. I am the Buddha now.”
“I loved you, Siddhartha, god help me. I love you still. Oh please allow me to be near you, husband, please my darling, please …”
“Yasodhara—”
“I am your lawful wife, Siddhartha. I am your lawful …” With that,
