The prince entered the garden grove, And many maidens came to greet him. Each hoping for his favor, They vied in offering their charms, Displaying every art and grace, Attending to his every wish. Some held his hands or feet, Some caressed his body, Some spoke and smiled to him, Some feigned a look of sorrow— All to please the prince, To stir his heart with love.

When the maidens saw the prince, His radiant face like a heavenly being, Needing no adornment, His natural form surpassing all adornment, They all gazed up at him, Thinking the moon-god had come. Yet despite their many arts, The Bodhisattva’s mind remained unmoved. They glanced at one another, Ashamed and silent.

A Brahmin’s son named Udayin Said to the maidens: “You are all beautiful, Clever and skilled, Your charm and vigor unmatched, And you know the secret ways of the world. Your beauty is rare in this world, Like that of celestial princesses. Even gods would leave their consorts, Immortals would be captivated— How can a mortal prince Remain untouched by your charms? Though this prince’s heart is firm, His virtue pure and complete, He is no match for a woman’s power. In ancient times, Sundarī Seduced the great sage, Making him succumb to desire, Trampling his head with her feet. The long-ascetic Gautama Was also ruined by a heavenly nymph; The sage’s son, superior to all, Fell into the stream of desire. The Brahmin sage Viśvāmitra Cultivated the Way for ten thousand years, Yet deeply attached to a heavenly nymph, Was destroyed in a single day. If such beauties could overcome ascetics, How much more should your arts Move the prince’s heart? Strive with greater skill, Lest the royal line be cut off. Though a woman’s nature may be low, Her glory can rival a god’s. Why not use all your arts To stir desire in his heart?”

Hearing Udayin’s words, The maidens felt encouraged, Like a good horse spurred on. They approached the prince, Offering every art: Singing, dancing, talking, laughing, Raising eyebrows, showing white teeth, Glancing with lovely eyes, Light robes revealing fair skin. Swaying as they walked slowly, Pretending closeness, feigning intimacy, Their hearts filled with desire, And obeying the king’s command, They cast aside modesty and shame, Forgetting all restraint.

But the prince’s heart remained firm, Unmoved, unchanged in expression, Like a great elephant king Surrounded by a herd, Unyielding in his mind, At ease amid the crowd. Like Lord Indra Surrounded by celestial maidens, So was the prince in the garden, Encircled by these women. Some straightened his clothes, Some washed his hands and feet, Some anointed him with perfume, Some adorned him with flowers. Some hung garlands on him, Some embraced or held him, Some prepared his bed, Some whispered intimately. Some teased in worldly ways, Some spoke of sensual pleasures, Some acted out desires, All hoping to stir his heart.

But the Bodhisattva’s mind was pure, Steadfast, unshakable. Hearing the maidens’ words, He felt neither sorrow nor joy. Instead, his disgust grew stronger, And he marveled at this strangeness: Now he saw how women’s Desire burns so fiercely. They do not know that youthful beauty Soon decays with age and death. Alas, this great delusion! Ignorance veils their minds. One should reflect on age, sickness, and death, Striving diligently day and night. With a blade at one’s neck, How can one still laugh and play? Seeing others age, sicken, and die, Yet failing to examine oneself— Such a person is like wood or clay, What mind can they possess? Like twin trees in an empty field, Both lush with leaves and flowers: If one is cut down, The other feels no fear. These people are just the same, Mindless, unaware.

Then Udayin came to the prince, Seeing him serene in meditation, Free from thoughts of desire. He said to the prince: “The king commanded me To be your good friend, So now I offer sincere advice. A friend does three things: Removes harm, Brings benefit, And does not abandon in difficulty. Since I am called a good friend, To abandon a man’s duty, To withhold what should be said— How could that be of benefit? So now I speak plainly, To show my true heart. You are in the prime of youth, Your appearance and virtue complete. Not valuing women Is not the mark of a superior man. Even if your heart is not in it, You should skillfully accept them. Cultivate a gentle, humble mind, Yield to their wishes. Nothing increases desire and pride More than women. Even if your heart resists now, By custom you should skillfully comply. Yielding to a woman’s heart brings joy, Yielding is an ornament. If one turns away from yielding, It is like a tree without fruit. Why yield? To win her over. Having gained what is hard to gain, Do not take it lightly. Desire is the foremost thing; Even gods cannot forget it. Indra himself secretly lay With the wife of the sage Gautama. The sage Agastya Long practiced asceticism, Seeking a heavenly nymph, Yet his wish went unfulfilled. The sage Bharadvāja, And the moon-god, The sage Vālmīki, And the sage Kapila— Many such as these Were ruined by women. How much more should you, In your own domain, find delight? Through past virtues you gained This wonderful assembly. All the world delights in it, Yet your heart does not treasure it.”

Then the prince, hearing his friend Udayin With sweet words and clever speech Skillfully describe the ways of the world, Replied: “Udayin, I am moved by your sincere words. Now I will speak to you; Listen carefully. I do not scorn fine pleasures, Nor am I unaware of worldly joys. But seeing the mark of impermanence, My heart turns away in weariness. If these things lasted forever, Without age, sickness, or death, I too would enjoy them, Never tiring of them. If women’s beauty Never faded or changed, Though desire brings suffering, It might still be worth indulging. But people age, sicken, and die— They themselves find no joy in it. How then can others Feel attachment to them? The impermanent objects of the senses, And one’s own body as well— To feel delight in them Is no different from beasts. The sages you cited, Those attached to sensual pleasures— They are to be pitied, Worn down by desire. And those you call superior, Who delight in sensual pleasures— They too are worn down; Know that they are not superior. If you say one should skillfully yield, Drawing near while pretending— Once near, true attachment arises; How can that be called skillful? False, deceitful compliance— This I will not do. True compliance Would be wrong. This mind is hard to restrain; Engaging with things, it clings. Once clinging, it sees no fault— How then can one skillfully yield? To be outwardly compliant while inwardly opposed— This principle I do not accept. Age, sickness, and death— This great mass of suffering Would pull me down into it. This is not a friend’s counsel. Alas, Udayin, You are truly bold! Birth, age, sickness, and death— This suffering is dreadful. Seeing all things decay, Yet still chasing after pleasure— Now I am weak and inferior, My heart narrow and small. Reflecting on age, sickness, and death, Which come suddenly, unforeseen, How can I, forgetting sleep day and night, Indulge in sensual pleasures? Age, sickness, and death burn fiercely, Inevitably approaching. Not to feel sorrow and fear— That truly is a heart of wood or stone.”

The prince, for Udayin’s sake, With various skillful means, Explained the deep danger of desire, Until the day drew to a close. Then the maidens, with their music and adornments, Found all their arts useless. Ashamed, they returned to the city. The prince saw the garden grove, Its adornments now stilled, The maidens all gone, The place empty and quiet. His sense of impermanence deepened, And he bowed, returning to the palace.

The king heard that the prince’s heart Had turned away from sensual pleasures, And he felt great sorrow and pain, As if pierced by a sharp thorn. He summoned his ministers, Asking what could be done. They all replied: “It is not sensual pleasures That can hold his heart.”