Struck down with grief for my son, deranged, out of my mind, nude, my hair flying, I wandered here and there.
“Puttasokenahaṁ aṭṭā, khittacittā visaññinī; Naggā pakiṇṇakesī ca, tena tena vicārihaṁ.
I lived on rubbish heaps, in cemeteries and highways. For three years I wandered, stricken by hunger and thirst.
Vīthi saṅkārakūṭesu, susāne rathiyāsu ca; Acariṁ tīṇi vassāni, khuppipāsāsamappitā.
Then I saw the Holy One back at the city of Mithilā. Tamer of the untamed, the Awakened One fears nothing from any quarter.
Athaddasāsiṁ sugataṁ, nagaraṁ mithilaṁ pati; Adantānaṁ dametāraṁ, sambuddhamakutobhayaṁ.
Regaining my mind, I paid homage and sat down. Out of compassion Gotama taught me the Dhamma.
Sacittaṁ paṭiladdhāna, vanditvāna upāvisiṁ; So me dhammamadesesi, anukampāya gotamo.
After hearing his teaching, I went forth to homelessness. Applying myself to the Teacher’s words, I realized the state of grace.
Tassa dhammaṁ suṇitvāna, pabbajiṁ anagāriyaṁ; Yuñjantī satthuvacane, sacchākāsiṁ padaṁ sivaṁ.
All sorrows are cut off, given up, they end here. I’ve fully understood the basis from which grief comes to be.
Sabbe sokā samucchinnā, pahīnā etadantikā; Pariññātā hi me vatthū, yato sokāna sambhavo”ti.
