Thig 6.1

Pañcasatamattātherīgāthā

“Yassa maggaṁ na jānāsi, āgatassa gatassa vā; Taṁ kuto cāgataṁ sattaṁ, ‘mama putto’ti rodasi.

Five Hundred Students of Paṭācārā

“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!’

Maggañca khossa jānāsi, āgatassa gatassa vā; Na naṁ samanusocesi, evaṁdhammā hi pāṇino.

But 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.

Ayācito tatāgacchi, nānuññāto ito gato; Kutoci nūna āgantvā, vasitvā katipāhakaṁ; Itopi aññena gato, tatopaññena gacchati.

Unasked 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.

Peto manussarūpena, saṁsaranto gamissati; Yathāgato tathā gato, kā tattha paridevanā”.

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

“Abbahī vata me sallaṁ, duddasaṁ hadayassitaṁ; Yā me sokaparetāya, puttasokaṁ byapānudi.

“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.

Sājja abbūḷhasallāhaṁ, Nicchātā parinibbutā; Buddhaṁ dhammañca saṅghañca, Upemi saraṇaṁ muniṁ”.

Today 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.”