The Fateful Flood of Patasara

One late afternoon, the wind blew forlornly across a barren field, carrying the acrid smell of freshly collapsed earth and rock. Amid this desolation, a naked woman with disheveled hair, eyes rolling back and mouth gaping without a sound, dragged herself along the dusty road. This was Patasara, a woman born into a powerful and noble family, now driven mad by a chain of horrific tragedies that had unfolded within a single day.

Before this, she had been the daughter of a wealthy household, but blinded by delusion she had eloped with one of the family's servants. The couple lived happily and were blessed with two charming sons. When the children had grown, she persuaded her husband to return and visit her aging parents. On the journey home, a venomous snake suddenly bit and killed her husband. Before the pain of losing him could ease, she faced an even harsher trial: the season of fierce rains and floods descended upon them.

She had no choice but to carry her two small children across a river with a raging current. She left the older boy on the near bank and swam across carrying the younger one. The moment she set the little one down, she turned to look back at the far bank and saw a fierce tiger carrying off her older son. She screamed in anguish, but her cry was swallowed by the roar of the rushing water. In her panic, the younger child she had left on the bank slipped and fell into the merciless water, swept away and never seen again. Left utterly alone, she had lost her husband and both sons in the blink of an eye.

With a shattered heart, she dragged herself back to her hometown, hoping to find some warmth in her parents' embrace. But fate mocked her: at the very moment she arrived, an earthquake or collapsing house, as the tradition tells, claimed the lives of her parents. Having lost everything, Patasara broke down completely. Her sanity snapped. She tore off her clothes and ran about wildly, knowing neither shame nor fear, nothing left within her but a swirling mass of suffering (dukkha).

She ran into Jetavana Monastery, where the Buddha was giving a teaching. The monks and lay devotees were horrified at her terrifying appearance. But the Buddha remained seated in stillness, radiating a boundless field of compassion. He did not scold her or drive her away, but gently called her name:

"Patasara! Stop!"

That call worked like a miracle, piercing through the fog of madness in her mind. She froze, gasping for breath, her eyes slowly returning to clarity. Then shame rushed over her. She covered her face and trembled. A monk quickly brought a robe and wrapped it around her.

The Buddha looked upon her with eyes of deep empathy, then spoke a verse:

"When death comes, we depart alone. Neither parents, children, nor anyone else can shield us. Knowing this truth well, the wise keep the precepts and strive with diligence on the path to tranquil nirvana."

This teaching did not dwell on the specific pain of her losses, but revealed the solitary nature of every sentient being before death. However many loved ones we may have, when death knocks at the door, we must face it alone. Realizing this, Patasara no longer sank into resentment against fate. She ordained and devoted herself to earnest practice, diligently cultivating meditative concentration. At last she attained the fruit of arahantship, finding eternal peace after the storms of her life.

The Meaning of the Story

The story illustrates a profound truth: in life, however large our circle of loved ones may be, before death each of us is utterly alone. The love of family, however beautiful, cannot halt the law of impermanence (anicca). The core lesson is not to cling to what is fleeting, but to turn the mind/heart toward spiritual practice, keeping the precepts and seeking inner liberation, the only refuge that can shelter us through every upheaval of birth and death.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang