I hesitated for a long moment, then sat down next Yasodhara and spoke to her in a soft, calming voice. “I would like to tell you a story now, Yasodhara.”
As she looked up at me through her tears: “It is no surprise that you love me the way you do, Yasodhara. The truth is that you have always loved me this way, in every single lifetime we have shared. That’s right, Yasodhara, you and I have known each other many times before. In one particular lifetime, for instance, I was a fairy named Canda who lived in the mountains and you were my fairy wife, also named Canda.” (FCJAT)
“ … I was named Canda too?”
“Yes, we were both fairies named Canda who ate pollen and dressed in flowers and danced around, isn’t that charming? One day, however, a wicked human shot me with an arrow (the human was apparently attracted to you, Yasodhara, because you were quite a pretty little fairy, yes you were) and my life was in grave danger until you talked Brahma into helping me and so I lived, isn’t that marvelous, Yasodhara, I lived because of you. You were devoted to me, you see, as you always have been and as you always will be. I hope that makes you feel better.”
She grabbed my hand and kissed it, pressing it to her tear-stained face. “Let me learn from you … Buddha?”
That night as we were eating dinner, Ananda glanced over at me. “Could you not find some way of allowing Prajapati and Yasodhara to be part of the sangha, master?”
“No, Ananda, I could not and please stop asking me about it.”
“I do so only because Prajapati and Yasodhara are not going away, master. They are continuing to follow us everywhere we go.”
“I am fully aware of that, Ananda.”
“We have told them to leave but they won’t listen. Their feet are bleeding very badly, master.”
“Yes, and that is because they are not made for this life, Ananda. They do not belong here, which is my point exactly.”
Ananda and I ate in silence for a long moment. Then: “Can women not even achieve enlightenment, master?”
“Hmm?”
“Can women not even achieve enlightenment? Is enlightenment only for men?”
“Women can achieve enlightenment, of course, Ananda, theoretically speaking. But what Prajapati and Yasodhara are asking of me simply cannot occur and fine, I will tell you why. I have never disclosed the following to you or anyone else, Ananda, so brace yourself: My perfect wisdom will only last for one thousand years.” (CV 10:1)
“Oh master, no!”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But why?”
“That I don’t know, it’s simply the way things are. My insights will resonate for a thousand years and after that be completely forgotten.”
“That is awful, master!”
“But that is not all, Ananda. If women were to enter the sangha, my words would not last a thousand years but rather, prepare yourself, five hundred years.” (ANG 8:51)
“Oh no!”
“For just as when mold strikes, the crops are doomed, if women were to strike the sangha, it too would be doomed.”
An hour later, at bedtime, out of the blue: “What if women were inferior to men, master?”
“What do you mean by inferior, Ananda?”
“I don’t know exactly, just … inferior in every way. Mightn’t that work?”
I started to speak, then stopped and considered Ananda’s question.
19
“I have decided that women may join the sangha, Ananda,” I announced over tea the next morning. (CV 10:1)
“Oh, master!”
“But only under the following condition: That they play an inferior role in the community.”
“Yes, master, of course!”
“One example: A woman who has been a nun for, let us say, fifty years meets a man who has been a monk for, let us say, one day. The woman is still the man’s inferior, she must defer to him, she must pay her respects to him. This one-day monk may criticize this fifty-year nun all he wishes for as long as he wishes but she may not criticize him at ALL, EVER.” (TV)
“Prajapati will be so happy, master, oh, this is such exciting news.”
“No, Ananda, it is not exciting news. It is, in fact, terrible news. Allowing women into the sangha, as I already told you, will cut in half the period of time during which my profound teachings will illuminate the world.”
“Oh … Oh yes, master …”
“Please stop smiling like that, Ananda.”
A few days later, I stood before a small group of women, my sangha’s first nuns. At the front of the group was Prajapati; behind her was Yasodhara; behind her were many others. “Have you any lessons for us, Tathagata?” Prajapati asked me.
“I do, nuns. Please imagine a butcher, if you will. Please imagine that this butcher is killing a cow and carving it up with an extremely sharp knife. Imagine that the butcher cuts away all the cow’s flesh and organs, leaving only the cow’s hide. Have you imagined all this? Good. Now a question for you, nuns: If the butcher were to hold up the cow’s hide and pronounce, ‘This is the cow,’ would he be lying or speaking the truth? It still looks like the cow, but as it has been gutted and there is literally nothing left inside it, tell me, is it in fact the cow?” (NKV 3:274–75)
Some of the women glanced at each other, unsure. Finally Prajapati spoke. “We do not know, Tathagata.”
“Then I will tell you: The butcher is telling the truth, the empty hide is the cow. In fact, it is a superior version of the cow because the flesh and organs that the butcher cut away represented lust and desire. The butcher’s sharp knife represented noble wisdom removing these impurities and, when you get right down to it, the butcher basically represented me.”
The women stared at me in evident confusion for a moment. “Are you saying that the hollowed out version of the cow is better, Tathagata?”
“Indeed I am, nun, for it is better for the cow, far better, to be
