“Thus have I heard. On one occasion the Blessed One was dwelling at Sāvatthī, in Jetavana, the monastery of Anāthapiṇḍika…” Numerous discourses of the Buddha begin with these words, and hence the name of that great lay devotee, Anāthapiṇḍika, is well known to readers of Buddhist literature. His name means “one who gives alms (piṇḍa) to the helpless (anātha),” and is the honorific of the householder Sudatta of the city of Sāvatthī. Who was he? How did he meet the Buddha? What was his relationship to the Teaching? The answers to these questions may be found in the many references to him that occur in the traditional texts. Anāthapiṇḍika’s first encounter with the Buddha took place shortly after the Master’s third rains retreat following his Enlightenment. In this early period of his ministry the Buddha had not laid down any regulations regarding dwelling places.
The bhikkhus lived wherever they wished—in the woods, at the roots of trees, under overhanging rocks, in ravines, caves, charnel grounds, and the open air. One day a wealthy merchant of Rājagaha, capital of the kingdom of Magadha, became a faithful lay follower of the Buddha. Seeing how the monks lived, he suggested to them that they ask their Master whether he would allow them to accept a permanent residence. When the Buddha gave his permission, the merchant at once set about to erect no fewer than sixty dwellings for the monks, explaining that he needed to gain merit. With the building of that first Buddhist monastery, the foundation was laid for the spread of the Dhamma, for now there would be a training centre for the Order.
This merchant had a brother-in-law, named Sudatta but always called Anāthapiṇḍika, who was the richest merchant in Sāvatthī. One time, when Anāthapiṇḍika was travelling on business in the neighbouring state of Magadha, he came to Rājagaha. As usual, his way led him first to his brother-in-law, to whom he was bound by a warm friendship. When he entered the house he found to his astonishment that the household hardly noticed him. Previously he had been accustomed to his brother-in-law’s full attention and to a rousing welcome from the other residents of the house. But now he saw that they were all very busy, eagerly making elaborate preparations. He asked his preoccupied brother-in-law what this meant: “A wedding? A major sacrifice? A visit from the king?” But the brother-in-law explained: “I have invited the Enlightened One and the order of monks here for tomorrow’s meal.”
Anāthapiṇḍika became attentive: “Did you say ‘the Enlightened One’?” “Indeed,” answered the brother-in-law, “tomorrow the Enlightened One is coming.” And Anāthapiṇḍika, hardly able to believe his ears, asked a second and a third time: “Did you say ‘the Enlightened One’?” Then, breathing a deep sigh of relief, he said, “Even the sound alone of these words is indeed rare in this world—the Enlightened One. Can one really see him?” His brother-in-law answered: “Today would not be suitable, but you can go early tomorrow morning.” That night, as Anāthapiṇḍika lay down to sleep, he was moved by tumultuous thoughts and feelings. So strong was his anticipation of the next day’s meeting that he woke up three times in the night, thinking it was already daytime. Finally, he arose even before dawn and went out of the city toward the monastery. In the darkness, fear overcame him, doubt and uncertainty stirred within his heart, and all his worldly instincts told him to turn back.
But an invisible spirit named Sīvaka urged him to continue on: A hundred thousand elephants, A hundred thousand horses, A hundred thousand mule-drawn chariots, A hundred thousand maidens Adorned with jewellery and earrings— These are not worth a sixteenth part Of a single step forward.
“Go forward, householder! Go forward, householder! Going forward is better for you, not turning back again.” And so through the rest of the night Anāthapiṇḍika walked resolutely on. After a while he saw in the misty dawn a figure walking silently back and forth. Anāthapiṇḍika stopped. Then the figure called to him in an indescribably melodious voice: “Come, Sudatta!” Anāthapiṇḍika was startled at being addressed in this manner, for no one there addressed him by his given name. He was known only as Anāthapiṇḍika, and besides, he was unknown to the Buddha and had come unexpectedly. Now he was certain that he was in the presence of the Enlightened One.
Overwhelmed by the gravity of the encounter, he fell at the Master’s feet and asked him in a stammering voice: “Did the Blessed One sleep well?” With his answer to this conventional question the Buddha gave Anāthapiṇḍika a glimpse of his real stature: Always indeed he sleeps well, The brahmin who is fully quenched, Who does not cling to sensual pleasures, Cool at heart, without acquisitions.
Having cut off all attachments, Having removed care from the heart, The peaceful one indeed sleeps well, For he has attained peace of mind.
Then the Blessed One, leading Anāthapiṇḍika step by step, spoke to him of giving, of virtue, of the heavens; of the perils, vanity, and defiling nature of sensual pleasures; of the benefits of renunciation. When he saw that Anāthapiṇḍika was ready in heart and mind—pliable, unobstructed, uplifted and serene—he explained to him the teaching that is unique to the Enlightened Ones: the Four Noble Truths of suffering, its cause, its cessation, and the path. With that, the dust-free, stainless eye of truth (dhamma-cakkhu) opened for Anāthapiṇḍika: “Whatever has the nature of arising, all that has the nature of cessation.”
Anāthapiṇḍika had understood the truth of the Dhamma, had overcome all doubts, and was without any wavering; certain in his mind, he was now self-dependent in the Master’s Dispensation. He had realized the path and fruit of streamentry (sotāpatti). He then invited the Blessed One for a meal the next day at the home of his brother-in-law, and the Master accepted. After the meal, Anāthapiṇḍika asked the Buddha if he might build a monastery for the Order in his hometown of Sāvatthī. The Buddha answered: “The Enlightened Ones love peaceful places.” “I understand, O Master, I understand,” answered Anāthapiṇḍika, overjoyed with the acceptance of his offer.
When Anāthapiṇḍika returned to Sāvatthī, he encouraged the people along the route to receive the Buddha in a respectful manner. Once he arrived in Sāvatthī, he immediately searched for an appropriate location for the monastery. The site had to be neither too close to the city nor too far; it should not be overrun by people in the daytime or noisy at night; it should be accessible to devoted visitors and also fit for those bent on seclusion. At last, in the chain of hills surrounding the city, he found a beautiful forest glade, ideal for the purpose. This was Jetavana—Jeta’s Grove—a glade belonging to Prince Jeta, a son of King Pasenadi. Anāthapiṇḍika visited Prince Jeta in his palace and asked if the forest were for sale. The prince answered that he would not sell it even for the appropriate price of eighteen million gold coins. I will give you that much, right now,” replied Anāthapiṇḍika, but they were not able to come to terms and went to an arbitrator. The arbitrator ruled that the price should amount to as many gold coins of the eighteen million as could be laid next to each other on the land, and on this basis an agreement of sale was drawn up. Anāthapiṇḍika brought many carts filled with gold coins and had the coins spread out upon the site. Finally only one small patch of ground at the entrance remained bare. He gave instructions for more gold to be brought, but Prince Jeta announced that he was prepared to build a mighty gate and tower on that spot at his own expense.
This imposing bastion and gate protected the monastery from the outside world, shielding it from the noises of the road and emphasizing the dividing line between the sacred and the mundane. Anāthapiṇḍika then spent another eighteen million for buildings and furnishings. He built individual cells, a meeting hall, a dining hall, storerooms, walkways, latrines, wells, and lotus ponds for bathing as well as a large surrounding wall. Thus the forest glade was transformed into a monastery and stood apart as a religious sanctuary (Vin II 158–59). To honour both parties to its establishment, the texts always refer to it by two names: “Jeta’s Grove” and “Anāthapiṇḍika’s monastery.”
When all the preparations had been completed, the Buddha and his monks came to Sāvatthī to take up residence at the new monastery. On their arrival Anāthapiṇḍika invited them for a meal, after which he asked the Buddha: “How should I proceed with the offering of this Jetavana?” “You may dedicate it to the Sangha of the four quarters, present and future.” And so Anāthapiṇḍika did.
Then the Buddha expressed his appreciation to him in the following verses: They ward off cold and heat and beasts of prey from there And creeping things and gnats and rains in the wet season. When the dreaded hot wind arises, that is warded off. To meditate and obtain insight in a shelter and at ease-- A dwelling place is praised by the Awakened One As chief gift to an Order.
Therefore a wise man looking to his own weal, Should have dwelling places built, so that Learned ones can stay therein. To these food and drink, raiment and lodgings, He should give, to the upright, with mind purified. Then these will teach him Dhamma dispelling every ill; He, knowing that Dhamma, here attains Nibbāna, cankerless. (Vin II 147–48; 2:164–65)
The alms meal for the monks was followed by a sumptuous celebration for the laity, with gifts for everyone. This cost another eighteen million, so altogether Anāthapiṇḍika spent fifty-four million on the headquarters for the Order. Therefore the Buddha declared him to be the foremost patron of the Sangha (AN 1, chap. 14).
THE WEALTHY PATRON
After establishing the monastery Anāthapiṇḍika was assiduous in his support for the resident Sangha. He provided the monks dwelling there with all necessities. Each morning he sent rice gruel, and each evening he supplied all the requirements of clothing, alms-bowls, and medicines. All repairs and upkeep in Jetavana were undertaken by his servants. Above all, several hundred monks came daily to his home—a seven-story mansion—to receive the forenoon meal. Every day at mealtime his home was filled with saffron robes and the ambiance of saintliness. When King Pasenadi learned of Anāthapiṇḍika’s generosity, he wished to imitate him, and so he supplied alms for five hundred monks daily.
One day, as he was on his way to talk with the monks, he learned from his servants that the monks were taking the food away with them and giving it to their supporters in the city, who would offer it back to them. The king was mystified, for he had always provided very tasty food, and so he asked the Buddha about the reason for the monks’ behaviour. The Buddha explained to the king that in the palace the courtiers distributed the food without any inner feeling, just following orders as if they were cleaning out a barn or taking a thief to court. They lacked faith and had no love for the monks. Many of them even thought the monks were parasites living by the labour of the working population. When anything was given in that spirit, no one could feel comfortable accepting it—even when the meal was made of the most delicious food.
In contrast, the faithful householders of the city, like Anāthapiṇḍika and Visākhā, welcomed the monks and regarded them as spiritual friends who lived for the welfare and benefit of all beings. A humble meal provided by a friend would be worth much more than the most sumptuous meal offered by someone who did not give in the right spirit. The Buddha added a verse for the king to remember: A dish may be insipid or savoury, The food may be meagre or abundant, Yet if it is given by a friendly hand, Then it becomes a delicious meal. (J 346)
Not only were Anāthapiṇḍika and Visākhā the foremost donors in Sāvatthī (J 337, 346, 465), but their help was frequently solicited by the Buddha whenever something needed to be arranged with the lay community. Yet even Anāthapiṇḍika’s wealth was not inexhaustible. One day treasures worth eighteen million were swept away by a flash flood and washed into the sea. Moreover, he had lent about the same amount of money to business friends who did not repay him, and he was reluctant to ask for the money back. Since his fortune had amounted to about five times eighteen million, and he had already spent three-fifths of this for the monastery, his wealth was now running out. Anāthapiṇḍika, the millionaire, had become poor. Nevertheless, despite the hardship, he still continued to provide some food for the monks, even though it was only a modest serving of thin rice gruel. At that time a spirit lived in Anāthapiṇḍika’s seven-story palace above the gate. Whenever the Buddha or a holy disciple entered the house, the spirit, following the law of his realm, was obliged to step down from his place in order to honour them.
This, however, was very inconvenient for the spirit, and so he tried to think of a way to keep the monks out of the house. He appeared to a servant and suggested stopping the almsgiving, but the servant paid no attention. Then the spirit tried to turn the son of the house against the monks, but this also failed. Finally, the spirit appeared in his supernatural aura to Anāthapiṇḍika himself and tried to persuade him that since he was now so impoverished it would be prudent to stop giving alms. The great donor replied that he knew of only three treasures: the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha. He said he was intent on looking after these treasures, and he told the spirit to leave his house as there was no place in it for enemies of the Buddha.
Thereupon the spirit, again following the law of his realm, had to abandon that place. He went to the deity who was the divine protector of the city of Sāvatthī and requested an assignment to a new shelter. The deity referred him to a higher court, that of the Four Divine Kings, the deities who collectively ruled over the lowest heaven. But these four also did not feel qualified to make a decision and sent the homeless spirit to Sakka, the king of the devas. In the meantime, however, the spirit had become aware of his wrong conduct and asked Sakka to seek forgiveness on his behalf. Sakka required that as a penance the spirit help Anāthapiṇḍika to regain his fortune.
First the spirit had to retrieve the sunken gold; then he had to procure unclaimed buried treasure; and finally he had to persuade Anāthapiṇḍika’s debtors to repay their debts. With a great deal of effort the spirit fulfiled these tasks. In doing so, he appeared to the debtors in dreams and demanded repayment. Before long Anāthapiṇḍika again had fifty-four million and was able to be as generous as he was formerly. The spirit appeared now before the Buddha and asked forgiveness for his malevolent behaviour. He received forgiveness, and after the Enlightened One had explained the Dhamma to him he became a disciple. The Buddha taught him, moreover, that a person who strove for perfection in giving could not be kept from it by anything in the world, neither by spirits, nor gods, nor devils, nor even by threat of death (J 140, 340).
After Anāthapiṇḍika had regained all his wealth, a brahmin became jealous of his good fortune and decided to steal from him what, in his opinion, had made him so wealthy. He wanted to abduct the manifestation of Siri, the goddess of fortune, because he thought that fortune would then leave Anāthapiṇḍika and come to him, bound to do his bidding. This strange perception was based on the idea that the so-called favours of fate, while a reward for earlier good deeds, are nevertheless dispensed by deities dwelling in the beneficiary’s house, who draw such favours to their master. So the brahmin went to Anāthapiṇḍika’s house and looked around to see where the goddess of fortune might be found. Like many Indians of his day he had clairvoyant powers and he saw Fortune living in a white cock which was kept in a golden cage in the mansion. He asked the master of the house to give him the cock to waken his students in the morning. Without hesitation the generous Anāthapiṇḍika granted his wish. However, just at that moment, Fortune wandered into a jewel. The brahmin requested this too as a present and received it. But then the spirit hid in a staff, a weapon used for self-defense.
After the brahmin had successfully begged this, the manifestation of Siri settled down on the head of Puññalakkhaṇā, Anāthapiṇḍika’s wife, who was truly the good spirit of this house and therefore had the protection of the gods. When the brahmin saw this, he recoiled in fright: “His wife I cannot request from him!” He confessed his evil intentions, returned the presents, and, deeply ashamed, left the house. Anāthapiṇḍika went to the Enlightened One and told him of this strange encounter, which he had not understood. The Buddha explained the connection to him—how the world is changed through good works and how, for those with right insight through moral purification, everything is attainable, even Nibbāna (J 284). Every time the Buddha stayed in Sāvatthī, Anāthapiṇḍika visited him. At other times, however, he felt bereft without a tangible support for worship. Therefore one day he told Ānanda of his wish to build a shrine.
When Ānanda reported this to the Enlightened One, the latter declared that there were three types of shrines: the corporeal, the memorial, and representations. The first type was a corporeal relic, which, after the Buddha’s Parinibbāna, was deposited in a stūpa; the second was an object which had a connection with the Enlightened One and had been used by him, such as the almsbowl; the third was a visible symbol. Of these three supports for worship, the first was not yet a possibility as long as the Blessed One was still living. The third would not be appropriate for those who could not content themselves with a mere picture or a symbol. There remained only the second. The Bodhi tree in Uruvelā seemed the best object to serve as a memorial to the Blessed One. Under it he had found the door to the Deathless, and it had provided him with shelter during the first weeks after his Enlightenment. So it was decided to plant a small shoot of this tree in Sāvatthī. Mahāmoggallāna brought a cutting from the original tree, which was to be planted at the gate of Jetavana in the presence of the court and the most distinguished of the monks and laity.
Ānanda presented the sapling to the king for the ceremonial planting. But King Pasenadi replied, with princely humility, that he served in this life merely as a steward for the office of the king. It would be far more appropriate for someone with a closer relationship to the Teaching to consecrate the tree. So he presented the shoot to Anāthapiṇḍika, who was standing next to him. The tree grew and became an object of devotion for all the pious laity. At the request of Ānanda, the Buddha spent a night sitting under the tree in order to bestow on it another more distinguished consecration. Anāthapiṇḍika often sought out the tree and used the memories associated with it and the spiritual upliftment which he received there to focus his thoughts on the Blessed One (J 479).
ANĀTHAPIṆḌIKA’S FAMILY
Anāthapiṇḍika was happily married. His wife, Puññalakkhaṇā, lived up to her name, which means “one with the mark of merit,” and as the good spirit of the house she took care of the servants and of the monks who came at midday. She, too, was devoted to the Dhamma, as was her brother, who had been one of the Buddha’s first lay disciples. Anāthapiṇḍika had four children, three daughters and a son. Two of the daughters, Big Subhaddā and Little Subhaddā, were steeped in the Dhamma like their father and had attained stream-entry. And just as they took after their father in spiritual matters, so they did in worldly affairs; they were both happily married. But the youngest daughter, Sumanā, surpassed even the rest of her family in her deep wisdom.
Upon hearing a discourse from the Buddha she had quickly attained the second step of purification, becoming a once-returner. She did not marry, but not because she had renounced marriage. In fact, when she saw the happiness of her two sisters, she became sad and lonely. Her spiritual strength did not suffice to overcome her depression. To the deep sorrow of her family, she wasted away, eating nothing, starving to death. She was reborn in the Tusita heaven, one of the highest heavens in the sensual realm, and there she had to purge herself of the residue of dependency on other people, her last desire directed outwardly.4 The only son of Anāthapiṇḍika, Kāla the Dark One, was at first a strain on his father’s house. He did not want to know anything of the Dhamma but immersed himself completely in his business affairs. Then one day his father urged him to observe a holy day, offering him one thousand pieces of gold if he would keep the Uposatha. Kāla consented, and soon found it relaxing to take one day of the week off from business to enjoy himself in the company of his family. Because of this, the fasting regulations of the Uposatha did not weigh too heavily on him.
Then his father made a second request and offered him another thousand if he would go to the monastery and learn a stanza of Dhamma by heart in the presence of the Master. Kāla gladly agreed. This became the turning point of his life. Each time that Kāla learned a verse, the Buddha made him misunderstand it, so that he had to listen repeatedly with keen attention. While attending to the meaning he suddenly became profoundly inspired by the Teaching and attained to stream-entry right on the spot. Thereby his daily life became richly ennobled, just as in his father’s case, and he also became a major benefactor of the Order, known by the name of “Little Anāthapiṇḍika.”
Kāla was married to Sujātā, a sister of the famous lay devotee Visākhā. Sujātā was very proud of her family background and her wealth on both sides. Because her mind revolved around nothing else but these trifles, she was inwardly unfulfilled, dissatisfied, and peevish, and she vented her unhappiness on others. She treated everyone harshly, beat her servants, and spread fear and terror wherever she went. She did not even follow the rules of propriety in her relationships with her parentsin-law and her husband, so important in Indian society. One day after an alms meal at their house, the Buddha was giving a discourse when loud shouts and yelling were heard from another room.
The Master interrupted his talk and asked Anāthapiṇḍika the reason for this commotion, which sounded like the noisy shouts of fisherfolk. The householder answered that it was his own daughter-in-law scolding the servants. She was a shrew, he said, who did not behave properly toward her husband or his parents, who did not give alms, who was faithless and unbelieving, and who was forever causing conflict.
Then an unusual thing happened: the Buddha asked that she be called. When she appeared before him, he asked her which of the seven types of wives she wanted to be. She replied that she did not understand the meaning of this, and asked for more explanation. So the Enlightened One described the seven kinds of wives to her in verse:
With hateful mind, cold and heartless, Lusting for others, despising her husband; Who seeks to kill the one who bought her— Such a wife is called a slayer.
When her husband acquires wealth By his craft or trade or farm work She tries to filch a little for herself— Such a wife is called a thief
The slothful glutton, bent on idling, Harsh, fierce, rough in speech, A woman who bullies her own supporter— Such a wife is called a tyrant.
One who is always helpful and kind, Who guards her husband as a mother her son, Who carefully protects the wealth he earns— Such a wife is called a mother.
She who holds her husband in high regard As younger sister holds the elder born, Who humbly submits to her husband’s will— Such a wife is called a sister.
One who rejoices at her husband’s sight As one friend might welcome another, Well raised, virtuous, devoted— Such a wife is called a friend.
One without anger, afraid of punishment, Who bears with her husband free of hate, Who humbly submits to her husband’s will— Such a wife is called a handmaid.
The types of wives here called a slayer, A thief, and the wife like a tyrant, These kinds of wives, with the body’s break-up, Will be reborn deep in hell.
But wives like mother, sister, friend, And the wife called a handmaid, Steady in virtue, long restrained, With the body’s break-up go to heaven. (AN 7:59)
Then the Blessed One asked her pointedly: “These, Sujātā, are the seven kinds of wives a man may have. Which of them are you?” Deeply moved, Sujātā replied that from then on she would strive to be a handmaid to her husband. The words of the Enlightened One had shown her how to conduct herself as a wife. Later she became a faithful disciple of the Buddha, to whom she was ever grateful for her salvation. News of the conversion of Sujātā quickly spread. One evening when the Buddha came into the lecture hall and asked the monks what they were discussing, they reported that they were speaking about “the miracle of the Dhamma,” shown by the Awakened One’s skill in making such a charming wife out of the former “house dragon” Sujātā. Thereupon the Buddha told them how he had already tamed her once in an earlier existence.
That time she had been his mother, and he had stopped her from scolding and domineering others through a comparison between the odious crows and the sweet songbirds (J 269). Finally, mention is made of a nephew of Anāthapiṇḍika. He had inherited a fortune of forty million but lived a wild life, drinking and gambling and squandering his wealth on entertainers, women, and obliging friends. When he had exhausted his inheritance he asked his rich uncle for support. Anāthapiṇḍika gave him a thousand gold pieces and told him that he should use this to start a business. But again he wasted all of his money and appeared once more at his uncle’s home. This time Anāthapiṇḍika gave him five times as much as before, without a single condition, but as a severance. However, though Anāthapiṇḍika warned him that this would be the last handout he would get, the nephew still did not change his wasteful ways.
The third time he begged his uncle for money Anāthapiṇḍika gave the young man two pieces of clothing, but he squandered these, too, and was shameless enough to call on his uncle for a fourth time. This time, however, he was told to leave. If he had come as a common beggar and not as a demanding nephew, he certainly would not have left the house of Anāthapiṇḍika empty-handed. But this he did not do, for it was not alms that he wanted but money to squander. Because he was too lazy and stubborn to earn his own living, yet was not willing to beg, he died wretchedly. His body was found at the city wall and was thrown into the refuse pile.
When Anāthapiṇḍika heard of this he asked himself whether he could have prevented this sad ending. He told the Buddha the story and asked if he should have acted differently. The Buddha, however, resolved his misgivings, explaining how that nephew belonged to the fortunately small number of insatiable people who are like bottomless vats. He had perished because of his own reckless behaviour, as had already happened to him in an earlier life (J 291).
ANĀTHAPIṆḌIKA AND HIS FRIENDS
Once Anāthapiṇḍika had attained stream-entry he was unswervingly committed to observing the precepts, to purity of mind, and to the endeavour to uplift those around him. So he lived in purity among likeminded people. Not only his immediate family but also his employees and servants strove to practice generosity, to keep the Five Precepts, and to observe the Uposatha days (J 382). His home became a centre of kindness and goodwill, and this attitude spread to his environment, to his friends and associates. He did not force his ideas on them, nor did he evade the problems of everyday life.
Some details of his life in those days are reported in the texts. Once a group of drinking companions in Sāvatthī ran out of money. As they pondered how they could get more brandy, one of them thought of drugging the wealthy Anāthapiṇḍika and then, when he had become unconscious, robbing him. They knew that he always took a particular route to visit the king, and so they set up a small brandy shop along the way. When Anāthapiṇḍika came along, they invited him to have a drink with them. But thinking to himself, “How can a devout follower of the Exalted One drink brandy?”, he declined the invitation and continued on his way to the palace. The depraved drinkers, however, tried to entice him once again on his return trip.
Then he faced them directly and said that they themselves did not want to drink their own brew since it stood just as untouched as on the earlier trip. Were they planning to make him unconscious and then rob him? When he bravely confronted them with these words, they fled in terror (J 53). Anāthapiṇḍika knew how to distinguish between his own observance of the precept not to drink alcohol and the behaviour of others. For example, one of Anāthapiṇḍika’s friends dealt in spirits. In spite of this, Anāthapiṇḍika maintained their friendship. Once, when the wine dealer suffered a major loss of merchandise through the carelessness of an employee, Anāthapiṇḍika was entirely sympathetic and treated his friend no differently than any other friend who had met with misfortune. He himself set a good example, but he did not force his ways on others or reproach them for their shortcomings (J 47).
Once, when Anāthapiṇḍika was in a region where there was danger of falling into the hands of robbers, he preferred bearing up with the inconvenience of travelling all night to exposing himself to the risk of an attack (J 103). He was true to the Buddha’s advice that one should overcome some things by fleeing from them without making a display of false heroism (see MN 2). Anāthapiṇḍika avoided being robbed in other ways. He had a friend with the unfortunate name Kālakaṇṇi, “Unlucky Bird,” who had been his friend since childhood. When this friend needed money Anāthapiṇḍika helped him generously and appointed him to a job in his own household. His other friends criticized him for this—the fellow had an inauspicious name and he came from rather low origins. But Anāthapiṇḍika rebuffed them, “What’s in a name? The wise pay no attention to superstition.”
When Anāthapiṇḍika went on a business trip he entrusted his house to this friend. Some thieves heard that he was gone and planned a burglary. When they had surrounded the house, the vigilant “Unlucky Bird” beat drums and made so much noise that it sounded as if a celebration were in progress. This convinced the thieves that the head of the house had not really left, so they threw away their tools and fled. When Anāthapiṇḍika heard of this he said to his friends, “See, that ‘Unlucky Bird’ has done me a great service. Had I listened to you, I would have been robbed” (J 83, 121).
Most of Anāthapiṇḍika’s friends were religious people, although some of them revered the various wandering ascetics who represented the many sects and diverse beliefs prevalent in India at that time. One day Anāthapiṇḍika suggested that a large group of his friends go to listen to the Buddha. They went willingly and were so stimulated by the Enlightened One’s discourse that they professed themselves to be his followers. From then on they regularly visited the monastery, gave donations, and observed the precepts and the Uposatha days. But as soon as the Buddha left Sāvatthī, they deserted the Dhamma and once again followed the other ascetics with whom they had daily contact.
Several months later, when the Buddha had returned to Sāvatthī, Anāthapiṇḍika again brought his friends to see him. This time the Awakened One not only presented the edifying aspects of the doctrine but also warned the apostates that there was no better or more comprehensive protection against suffering in the world than the Threefold Refuge in the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha. This opportunity was seldom available in this world, and whoever forfeited it would be extremely sorry.
Those, however, who sincerely went for refuge to the Three jewels would escape the hell regions and would attain to one of the three happy destinies: a good human rebirth, one of the heavenly abodes, or Nibbāna. The Buddha challenged these merchants to reconsider their priorities, to recognize that faith in the Triple Gem was not a dispensable luxury that could be casually cast aside when it no longer suited their convenience. He spoke to them of the futility of the many false refuges to which people turn, which cannot offer genuine protection but only symptomatic relief. When their minds became receptive to what he was saying he revealed to them the unique teaching of the Awakened Ones—the Four Noble Truths of suffering, its origin, its cessation, and the path—and at the end of the discourse they all attained stream-entry. In this way, Anāthapiṇḍika’s attainment also became a blessing for his friends (J 1).
DISCOURSES BY THE BLESSED ONE
Of the forty-five rainy seasons of his life as a teacher, the Buddha spent nineteen in Sāvatthī in Anāthapiṇḍika’s monastery in the Jeta Grove. Whenever he spent the three or four months of the rainy season there, Anāthapiṇḍika would usually visit him twice a day, often just to see him but frequently to hear a discourse. Anāthapiṇḍika was reticent about asking the Blessed One questions. As the most generous benefactor of the Order, he did not want to create the impression that he was merely bartering his contributions for personal advice.
The donations were for him a matter of the heart, given without any thought of reward—the sheer joy of giving was in itself sufficient reward for him. He thought that the Buddha and the monks would not regard the instruction as an obligation or a compensation for the benefactor but would share the gift of the Dhamma as a natural expression of their kindness and compassion. Therefore, when Anāthapiṇḍika came to the Buddha, he would sit quietly to one side and wait to see whether the Blessed One would give him any instruction. If the Awakened One said nothing, Anāthapiṇḍika would sometimes relate one of the episodes of his life, of which several have been recounted. He would wait to see whether the Blessed One had any comments to make, approving or criticizing his behaviour, or whether he would use that incident as a point of departure for a discourse. In this way he connected all that he experienced in his everyday life with the Teaching. Many of the occasions when the Buddha gave instructions to Anāthapiṇḍika have been recorded in the Pāli Canon.
These teachings form a comprehensive code of lay Buddhist ethics, and by eliciting them from the Blessed One Anāthapiṇḍika has also become a benefactor to countless generations of Buddhist laypeople conscientiously trying to follow the Dhamma. The discourses, which are contained in the Aṅguttara Nikāya, range from the simplest message to the most profound.6 A few are mentioned here, beginning with the basic words of advice to the laity: Householder, possessed of four things, the noble disciple has entered on the householder’s path of duty, a path which brings good repute and leads to the heavenly world. What are the four? Herein, householder, the noble disciple waits upon the order of monks with the offer of a robe, alms-food, lodging, and medicines for use in sickness. These are the four things. (AN 4:60)
Householder, there are these four kinds of bliss to be won by the householder: the bliss of ownership, the bliss of wealth, the bliss of debtlessness, the bliss of blamelessness.
What is the bliss of ownership? A man has wealth acquired by energetic striving, gathered by the strength of his arm, won by the sweat of his brow, justly obtained in a lawful way. At the thought: “Wealth is mine acquired by energetic striving…lawfully gotten,” bliss comes to him, satisfaction comes to him. This, householder, is called the bliss of ownership. What is the bliss of wealth? A man by means of wealth acquired by energetic striving…both enjoys his wealth and does meritorious deeds.
At the thought: “By means of wealth acquired…I both enjoy my wealth and do meritorious deeds,” bliss comes to him, satisfaction comes to him. This, householder, is called the bliss of wealth. What is the bliss of debtlessness? A man owes no debt, great or small, to anyone. At the thought: “I owe no debt, great or small, to anyone,” bliss comes to him, satisfaction comes to him. This, householder, is called the bliss of debtlessness. What is the bliss of blamelessness? The noble disciple is blessed with blameless action of body, blameless action of speech, blameless action of mind. At the thought: “I am blessed with blameless action of body, speech, and mind,” bliss comes to him, satisfaction comes to him. This, householder, is called the bliss of blamelessness. Such are the four kinds of bliss to be won by the householder. (AN 4:62)
There are, householder, five desirable, pleasant, and agreeable things which are rare in the world. What are those five? They are long life, beauty, happiness, fame, and (rebirth in) a heaven. But of those five things, householder, I do not teach that they are to be obtained by prayer or by vows. If one could obtain them by prayer or by vows, who would not do so? For a noble disciple, householder, who wishes to have long life, it is not befitting that he should pray for long life or take delight in so doing. He should rather follow a path of life that is conducive to longevity. By following such a path he will obtain long life, be it divine or human. For a noble disciple, householder, who wishes to have beauty…happiness…fame…(rebirth in) a heaven, it is not befitting that he should pray for them or take delight in so doing. He should rather follow a path of life that is conducive to beauty …happiness…fame…(rebirth in) a heaven. By following such a path he will obtain beauty, happiness, fame, and (rebirth in) a heaven. (AN 5:43)
Householder, there are five reasons for getting rich. What five? …A noble disciple with riches gotten by work and zeal, gathered by the strength of his arm, won by the sweat of his brow, justly obtained in a lawful way, makes himself happy, glad, and keeps that happiness; he makes his parents happy, glad, and keeps them so; so likewise his wife and children, and his servants. …When riches are thus gotten, he makes his friends and companions happy, glad, and keeps them so. …When riches are thus gotten, ill-luck…is warded off, and he keeps his goods in safety. …
When riches are thus gotten, he makes the five oblations to kin, guests, spirit, kings, and deities. …When riches are thus gotten, the noble disciple institutes offerings of lofty aim, celestial, ripening in happiness, leading heavenward, for all those recluses and brahmins who abstain from pride and indolence, who bear all things in patience and humility, each mastering self, each calming self, each perfecting self. Now if the wealth of that noble disciple, heeding these five reasons, comes to destruction, let him consider thus: “At least I’ve heeded those reasons for getting rich, but my wealth has gone!”— thus he is not upset. And if his wealth increases, let him think: “Truly, I’ve heeded those reasons and my wealth has grown!”— thus he is not upset in either case. (AN 5:41)
The importance of the preceding discourses is further emphasized by the fact that the Buddha impressed them again on Anāthapiṇḍika on another occasion in a slightly different form. On that occasion he said to him: Householder, there are these four conditions (to realize which is) desirable, dear, delightful, hard to win in the world. What four? (The wish:) “May wealth by lawful means come to me!” “Wealth being gotten by lawful means, may a good report attend me along with my kinsmen and teachers!” “May I live long and reach a great age!” “When the body breaks up, after death may I attain a heavenly world!” Now, householder, to the winning of these four conditions, four conditions conduce. What four? Perfection of faith, perfection of virtue, perfection of generosity, and perfection of wisdom. (AN 4:61)
The Buddha explained: Faith can only be won if one fully acknowledges the Blessed One and his message about the nature of existence. One can attain virtue only if one fulfils the basic Five Precepts for the moral life. Generosity is possessed by one who is free from the defect of avarice. One achieves wisdom when one realizes that if the heart is overcome by the five hindrances—worldly passions, malevolence, lassitude, agitation, and doubt—then one does what should not be done and fails to do what should be done. One who does evil and neglects good will lose his reputation and his good fortune. On the other hand, one who constantly investigates and observes his inner impulses and motives begins to overcome the five hindrances. Hence their conquest is a consequence of wisdom. If the noble disciple— through faith, virtue, generosity, and wisdom—is well on the way to obtaining the four desired things, namely, wealth, good reputation, long life, and a good rebirth, then he uses his money to accomplish four good deeds. He makes himself, his family, and his friends happy; he avoids accidents; he performs the five above-mentioned duties; and he supports genuine ascetics and brahmins. If one spends one’s wealth in ways other than these four, those riches have not fulfilled their purpose and have been senselessly squandered.
But if one has diminished one’s wealth because of spending it for these four purposes, one has used it in a meaningful way. On yet another occasion the Buddha explained the difference between right and wrong conduct for the lay disciple. In this discourse (AN 10:91) he says: “The most foolish kind of person is one who, having obtained possessions in dishonest ways, does not even enjoy the use of them himself, nor does he use them to benefit others. Slightly more sensible is the person who at least derives happiness and joy for himself from ill-gotten gains. Still more sensible is the one who uses them to make others happy.” Even on these lowest planes of forcible and illegal acquisition of money and goods, which the ordinary person indignantly and indiscriminately condemns, the Awakened One sees fine distinctions in the behaviour and attitudes of people. The person who recognizes that the elementary purpose of grasping for wealth is at least to obtain some comfort for himself, could be made to see how, through having an honest income, he can obtain more benefit. And one who derives additional pleasure by giving some pleasure to others, too, will readily understand that he has obviously given no joy to those whom he has cheated or robbed, while by making money honestly, he does not hurt anyone.
The second group of people are those who earn money partly in dishonest ways but partly through honest work. Among these, too, are those who bring joy neither to themselves nor to others; those who at least enjoy their wealth; and those who also gladden others. Finally, the third group consists of those people who earn their living entirely in honourable ways, who likewise fall into the same three groups. But in this last case there are two additional types: those who are strongly attached to their wealth and, being infatuated with it, are unaware of its inherent danger and do not seek a way out of it; and those who are not attached to their wealth and not infatuated by it, but are aware of its inherent dangers and know the way out of it. So there are ten types of people who enjoy worldly pleasures concerned with wealth.
Once the Buddha asked Anāthapiṇḍika whether alms were provided in his house. This refers, according to the commentary, only to alms given to the needy, for the Buddha knew that in Anāthapiṇḍika’s house alms were generously given to the Sangha. From this arose a talk on the qualitative grades of excellency in giving. The Buddha explained: “Whether one gives coarse or choice alms, if one gives it without respect and politeness, not with one’s own hand, gives only leftovers, and gives without belief in the result of actions, then wherever one is reborn as a result of giving alms, one’s heart will have no inclination for fine food and clothing, for fine vehicles, for the finer five sense-objects. His children, wife, servants, and labourers will not obey him, nor listen to him, nor pay attention to him. And why is that so? Because this is the result of actions done without respect.” In connection with this, the Buddha told how in an earlier life, as a rich brahmin named Velāma, he himself had distributed an enormous amount of alms but none of the recipients had been worthy of the gifts. Far more meritorious than large donations to unworthy people would be a single feeding of noble disciples, from stream-enterers to arahants.
Even more meritorious would be the feeding of a paccekabuddha or of a hundred paccekabuddhas, and even more so the giving of alms to a Buddha or the building of a monastery. But better yet would be going for refuge to the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha. And this deed would be perfected if one observed the Five Precepts. It would be still better if one could imbibe a slight fragrance, if only for a moment, of an all-encompassing radiation of lovingkindness (mettā). Best of all, however, would it be to cultivate, even for the time of a finger-snap, the insight into impermanence (AN 9:20). This speech shows the gradations of practice: giving, virtue, the meditation on universal love, and finally, the unwavering realization of the impermanence of all conditioned things. Without making efforts in giving, in virtue, and in impartial love for all fellow creatures, the concentrated contemplation of impermanence is not possible; for in the peace and quiet which this practice requires, pangs of conscience or other dark thoughts may arise. This exposition on the kinds of giving recalls another short discourse. It is the only one in which Anāthapiṇḍika himself asks a question, namely, “How many are worthy of receiving gifts?”
The Buddha answered that there are two kinds: those who are on the way to liberation and those who have already attained it (AN 2:27). While in the talks mentioned thus far the purification of the heart has been more or less indirectly stressed, on other occasions the subject was approached directly. Thus once the Buddha said to Anāthapiṇḍika: “If the heart is corrupted, then all actions, words, and thoughts are tainted, too. Such a person will be carried away by his passions and will have an unhappy death, just as the gables, rafters, and walls of a badly roofed house, being unprotected, will rot when drenched with rain” (AN 3:107–8).
Another time Anāthapiṇḍika went with several hundred lay followers to the Master, who spoke to them thus: “To be sure, you householders provide the monastic community with clothing, food, shelter, and medicine, but you should not be satisfied with that. May you also from time to time strive to enter and abide in the joy of (inner meditative) seclusion!”8 After these words the Venerable Sāriputta added the following: “At a time when the noble disciple dwells in the joy of (meditative) seclusion, five things do not exist in him: there is no pain and grief connected with the senses; no pleasure and gladness connected with the senses; no pain and grief connected with what is unwholesome; no pleasure and gladness connected with what is unwholesome; no pain and grief connected with what is wholesome” (AN 5:176).
On another occasion when Anāthapiṇḍika and many lay followers again visited the Buddha, the Blessed One said to Sāriputta: A white-clad householder who is restrained in his actions according to the Five Precepts and who can, easily and without difficulty, obtain at will the four lofty mental abidings which bring happiness in the present—such a householder may, if he so wishes, declare of himself: “Destroyed for me is (rebirth in) hell, destroyed is animal rebirth, destroyed the realm of ghosts: destroyed for me are the lower worlds, the unhappy destinies, the abysmal realms: I have entered the stream, no more subject to fall into the states of woe, affirmed, assured of final enlightenment.” In what Five Precepts are his actions restrained? A noble disciple abstains from killing, from taking what is not given, from wrong sensual behaviour, from lying, and from intoxicants that cause indolence. And what are the four lofty mental abidings bringing happiness in the present, which he can obtain at will? A noble disciple has unshakable faith in the Buddha, unshakable faith in the Dhamma, unshakable faith in the Sangha; and he is possessed of virtues beloved by the nobles—virtues that are unbroken, unviolated, untarnished, without blemish, bringing freedom, praised by the wise, ungrasped, conducive to concentration. These are the four lofty mental abidings bringing happiness in the present, which purify the impure mind and cleanse the unclean mind. These he obtains at will, easily and without difficulty. (AN 5:179)
At another time the attainment of stream-entry was explained to Anāthapiṇḍika in three different ways—but to him alone. The Buddha said: When in the noble disciple the five fearsome evils have disappeared, when he possesses the four attributes of stream-entry, and if he understands wisely and well the noble method, then he can regard himself as a stream-enterer. However, one who kills, steals, engages in sexual misconduct, lies, and takes intoxicants, generates five fearsome evils both in the present and in the future, and experiences pain and grief in his mind. Whosoever keeps away from the five vices, for him the five fearsome evils are eliminated. Secondly, he possesses—as attributes of stream-entry—unshakable trust in the Buddha, in the Dhamma, and in the Sangha, and he observes the precepts flawlessly. And thirdly, he has fully seen and penetrated the noble method, that is, dependent origination. (AN 10:92)
One morning Anāthapiṇḍika wanted to visit the Buddha, but because it was still too early he went to the monastery of some wandering ascetics. Since they knew him as a follower of the Buddha, they asked him what views the ascetic Gotama held. He replied that he did not know all the views of the Blessed One. When they asked him what views the monks held, he replied again that he did not know all their views. Thereupon he was asked what view he himself held. He replied: “What view I hold, honourable sirs, would not be difficult for me to explain. But may I first ask the honourable ones to present their own views. After that it will not be difficult for me to explain what kind of view I hold.”
The ascetics explained their notions of the world. One held it to be eternal, another held it not to be eternal; one held it to be finite, another held it to be infinite; one believed that body and life were identical, others supposed them to be distinct; some believed that Enlightened Ones endured after death, others said that they were destroyed. Then Anāthapiṇḍika spoke: “Whichever of these views one held, it could come only from one of two sources: either from one’s own unwise reflections, or through the words of another. In either case, the view has arisen conditionally. Conditioned things, however, are transitory; and things of a transitory nature involve suffering. Hence, one who holds views and opinions clings to suffering, succumbs to suffering.” Then the ascetics wished to know what views Anāthapiṇḍika held. He answered: “Whatever arises is transitory; the transitory is of the nature of suffering. But suffering does not belong to me, that is not I, that is not my self.” Seeking a rebuttal, they argued that he himself was involved in clinging as he clung to the view he had just expressed. “Not so,” he replied, “for I have perceived these things in accordance with reality, and besides, I know the escape from this as it really is”—in other words, he used the view only as a means and in time would also discard it.
Thereupon the wanderers were unable to respond and sat in silence, aware they had been defeated. Anāthapiṇḍika went quietly to the Blessed One, reported the conversation to him, and received the Buddha’s praise: “You were right, householder. You should guide those deluded ones more often into harmony with the truth.” And then the Master delighted and encouraged him with a discourse. After Anāthapiṇḍika had left, the Blessed One said to the monks that even a monk who had lived one hundred years in the Order would not have been able to reply to the wanderers better than Anāthapiṇḍika the householder had done (AN 10:93).
Finally, two other incidents may be reported: Anāthapiṇḍika was ill and requested a visit from a monk in order to receive consolation. Because Anāthapiṇḍika had done so much as a benefactor of the Order, there was no question that his request would be fulfiled. The first time, the Venerable Ānanda came to him; the second time, the Venerable Sāriputta. Ānanda said that one of untrained mind was afraid of death and of the afterlife because he lacked four things: he did not believe in the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha, nor did he possess the virtues dear to the noble ones. But Anāthapiṇḍika replied that he had no fear of death.
He possessed unshakable trust in the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha, and as for the precepts for householders, he knew of none which he was still violating. Then Ānanda praised him and said that he had just declared the fruit of stream-entry (SN 55:27).
When the Venerable Sāriputta visited, he told Anāthapiṇḍika that unlike the untrained worldling for whom hell was imminent, he had faith in the Three Jewels and had not broken the precepts. If he were now to concentrate very strongly on his faith in the Buddha, the Dhamma, and the Sangha, and on his own virtue, then his sickness might disappear through this meditation. He did not, like those who were untrained, have wrong views, wrong intentions, wrong speech, wrong action, wrong livelihood, wrong effort, wrong mindfulness, wrong concentration, wrong knowledge, or wrong liberation. If he would consider the fact that he, as a stream-enterer, was in possession of the ten noble factors, flowing in the direction of right liberation, then through this meditation his illness would vanish. Through the strength of this contemplation, Anāthapiṇḍika recalled his great fortune to be a noble disciple, and by the power of this excellent spiritual medicine the disease disappeared immediately. He stood up, invited the Venerable Sāriputta to partake of the meal prepared for himself, and carried on a further discussion with him.
At the end Sāriputta taught him three verses to remember: When one has faith in the Tathāgata, Unshakable and well established, And good conduct built on virtue, Dear to the noble ones and praised
When one has confidence in the Sangha And view that has been rectified, They say that one is not poor, That one’s life is not vain.
Therefore the person of intelligence, Remembering the Buddha’s Teaching, Should be devoted to faith and virtue, To confidence and vision of the Dhamma. (SN 55:26)
Eighteen discourses to Anāthapiṇḍika have been briefly recounted. Fourteen were given at the Blessed One’s own instigation; one arose when Anāthapiṇḍika posed a question; in another he reported how he had taught others; and in two he was instructed by Ānanda and Sāriputta. These eighteen discourses reveal how the Buddha made the Teaching clear to the laity and inspired them to joyful endeavours.
THE DEATH OF ANĀTHAPIṆḌIKA
The death of the great patron is related in the Anāthapiṇḍikovāda Sutta, Advice to Anāthapiṇḍika (MN 143). The householder fell ill a third time with very strong pains, which were getting worse and not abating. Again he asked the Venerable Sāriputta and the Venerable Ānanda for assistance. When Sāriputta saw him, he knew that Anāthapiṇḍika was nearing death and gave him the following instructions: “Do not cling, householder, to the six sense faculties and do not attach your thoughts to them. Do not cling to the six sense objects and do not attach your thoughts to them. Do not cling to the six types of consciousness, to the six sense contacts, to the six feelings, to the six elements, to the five aggregates, to the four formless realms. Do not cling to anything that is seen, heard, sensed, thought, perceived, and investigated in the mind, and do not attach your thoughts to this.” Anāthapiṇḍika must have followed this detailed presentation with his heart, so that even as he listened he was already practicing in the way the wise and holy Sāriputta had instructed him.
At the end of the instructions, tears came to Anāthapiṇḍika’s eyes. Ānanda turned to him compassionately and asked if he were sinking. But Anāthapiṇḍika replied: “I am not sinking, O worthy Ānanda. I have served the Master and the spiritually accomplished monks for a long time, yet I have never before heard such a profound discourse.” Then Sāriputta said: “Such profound talk, householder, will not be clear enough for white-clad lay followers; it is clear enough for renunciants.” Anāthapiṇḍika answered: “Venerable Sāriputta, let such talks on the Dhamma be given to white-clad lay followers, too. There are those with just a little dust on their eyes. If they do not hear such teachings they will be lost. Some may be able to understand.” The difference from the previously presented teaching of the Buddha is significant.
Here we are concerned with ultimate questions, with the highest deliverance, not just on a theoretical basis but as practice. As a disciple who possessed the fruit of stream-entry, Anāthapiṇḍika was aware of the transitory nature of the five aggregates of clinging, and he himself had spoken on the three characteristics of existence: impermanence, suffering, and nonself. But there is a great difference as to whether one merely hears these things and ponders them, or whether one actually practices and applies them to oneself. In this distinction lies the essential difference between the methods the Buddha used to teach householders and those he used to teach monks. For the laity, insight into the nature of existence was presented as a matter of knowledge, and this teaching was given at first to the monks as well.
But for the many monks who had progressed further, the Buddha introduced the practice that would lead to complete liberation even in this life. Only if one sees that Sāriputta’s exposition was a practical step-by-step approach to Nibbāna can one understand that Anāthapiṇḍika had never heard the core of the Teaching presented in quite such a manner. In his dying hour he was already far removed from worldly concerns and, while thinking of the Dhamma, had renounced attachment to worldly possessions as well as his body; thus he found himself in a situation comparable to that of the most advanced monks. Under these circumstances Sāriputta was able to give him such instructions as would have the most far-reaching effects. After advising Anāthapiṇḍika in this way, the two elders left. Shortly thereafter the householder Anāthapiṇḍika died and was reborn in the Tusita heaven, where his youngest daughter had preceded him. Yet he was so genuinely devoted to the Buddha and the Sangha that he appeared in the Jetavana monastery as a young deva, filling the whole area with heavenly light. He went to the Buddha and, after paying homage to him, spoke the following verses:
This indeed is that Jeta’s Grove, The resort of the Order of seers, Dwelt in by the Dhamma King, A place that gives joy to me.
By action and knowledge and righteousness, By virtue and an excellent life: By this are mortals purified, Not by clan or by wealth. Therefore a person who is wise, Out of regard for his own good, Should carefully examine the Dhamma: Thus he is purified therein.
Sāriputta truly is endowed with wisdom, With virtue and with inner peace. Even a bhikkhu who has gone beyond At best can only equal him.
Having spoken thus, the deva paid homage to the Blessed One and, keeping him on the right, disappeared right there. The next day the Buddha informed the monks what had happened. Immediately Ānanda spoke up: “Venerable sit, that young deva must surely have been Anāthapiṇḍika. For Anāthapiṇḍika the householder had full confidence in the Venerable Sāriputta.” And the Master confirmed this: “Good, good, Ānanda! You have drawn the right inference by reasoning. For that young deva was Anāthapiṇḍika” (SN 2:20; MN 143).
References: 1. The Great Disciples of The Buddha by Nyanaponika Thera and Hellmuth Hecker 2. https://suttacentral.net/