My hair mown off, covered in mud,
I used to wander wearing just one robe.
I saw fault where there was none,
and was blind to the actual fault.
Leaving my day’s meditation
on Vulture’s Peak Mountain,
I saw the stainless Buddha
at the fore of the mendicant Saṅgha.
I bent my knee and bowed,
and in his presence raised my joined palms.
“Come Bhaddā,” he said;
that was my ordination.
“I’ve wandered among the Aṅgans and Magadhans,
the Vajjis, Kāsis, and Kosalans.
I have eaten the almsfood of the nations
free of debt for fifty years.”
“O! He has made so much merit!
That lay follower is so very wise.
He gave a robe to Bhaddā,
who is released from all ties.”