The Regretful Goddess and the Elder Anāthapiṇḍada

**Summary:** The goddess tries to convince Anāthapiṇḍada to abandon the Buddha due to poverty, is expelled, and must repent and help him regain his wealth.

Night fell over Śrāvastī, and the wind from the Achiravatī River carried the scent of damp earth. In the vast mansion of the elder Anāthapiṇḍada, flickering oil lamps cast light upon the three-story main gate, as grand as a small pavilion. Upon that gate, a goddess sat embracing her young children, her eyes half-closed as she gazed down at the courtyard. Whenever the Buddha and the Sangha approached from afar to accept a meal offering, the Buddha's presence surged like an invisible wave, forcing her to bundle her things and scurry into a dark corner. She only dared to crawl back up to her post after the entire procession had departed. As the wind chime creaked, she gritted her teeth, and a sense of irritation began to smolder within her.

*“Every time the Buddha comes, I lose my home. Gradually, I can’t bear it.”*

She thought silently but dared not act, merely hugging her children and harboring her resentment deep inside.

Anāthapiṇḍada was the wealthiest householder in the capital. He was fifty-five years old when he met the Buddha, three years after the Buddha’s enlightenment. Before meeting the Buddha, he had helped the poor, but only to a moderate degree. After attaining the stage of stream-entry and placing complete faith in the Three Jewels, his generosity in making offerings became boundless. His influence was immense: he dared to negotiate and purchase Prince Jeta’s forest; officials throughout the court owed him gratitude; and even King Prasenajit held him in some awe. Yet, more than a decade passed, and his fortune dwindled. Loans he had made were never repaid. The gold ingots his craftsmen had cast and buried along the riverbank were swept away by the eroding Achiravatī, the entire treasure lost. Standing there, watching the land collapse, his heart tightened, but he only sighed and turned back home. For karma had arrived; even a saint like the stream-enterer could not avoid feeling sorrow.

That night, the goddess could endure no longer. She manifested before Anāthapiṇḍada, her form radiant with a faint aura, not ghoulish like a demon. She bowed her head, her voice feigning a sorrowful tone:

“O Elder, I am the deity who guards your estate. I see that since you followed the Buddha, you have grown poorer. Your gold is gone, and your debtors refuse to pay. Cease inviting the Buddha, cease making offerings, lest you face total ruin.”

Anāthapiṇḍada was stunned. Then he became stern, his hands clenched tight. He felt no fear, for the spiritual power of a saint in the mortal realm would not allow spirits or deities to command him. He spoke firmly:

“You speak wrongly and offend the Three Jewels. From this moment, you are forbidden to dwell here. Leave.”

The goddess was stricken. She gathered her children and vanished into the black night.

Expelled, she wandered everywhere, starving and without shelter. One evening, she went to the deity governing Śrāvastī and knelt, begging for a corner to stay. The deity coldly shook his head:

“You harbored malicious intent and offended the World-Honored One. I cannot help you. Go away.”

She drifted up to the realm of the Four Heavenly Kings, pleading with those there. She was again driven away:

“You slandered the Buddha. I will not shelter you. Depart.”

Finally, she ascended to the realm of Indra. King Indra, being an enlightened sovereign with compassion, told her:

“If your repentance is sincere, you must make amends to Anāthapiṇḍada by using your divine powers to restore his wealth.”

She hurried back and diligently influenced the minds of those who had once borrowed money from him. Night after night, many people were suddenly awakened by an inexplicable urge to bring gold and repay debts they had ignored for over a decade. Among them was a fisherman whose net had pulled up a clay pot of gold clearly marked “Anāthapiṇḍada family.” She stood guard, ensuring he did not dare to keep it and had to report it. In just two months, the elder’s treasury was once again overflowing.

The turning point came when she appeared again, kneeling at the elder’s feet, tears streaming down her face:

“I misunderstood before. I beg your forgiveness. I used my divine power to help you recover your wealth. Please pardon me.”

Anāthapiṇḍada looked down, his heart softening, yet he remained solemn:

“Come with me to meet the World-Honored One. Only He can purify you of your wrongdoing.”

She followed him, unseen. Before the Buddha, she revealed herself, bowed, and recounted everything. The Buddha gently granted his forgiveness, then recited a verse: The evil one feels clever when their karma has not yet ripened; the good one is scorned when their blessings have not yet matured.

From then on, the goddess was allowed to stay, her heart free from resentment. Anāthapiṇḍada continued to invite the Buddha; his wealth was ample, and his mind became even more serene. King Prasenajit still harbored some wariness of the elder’s influence, but thanks to courtiers who had been indebted to him, his worries eased. As for the goddess, whenever the Buddha visited, she still had to withdraw, but now she did so gladly, making way. No longer was she torn apart in the darkness of jealousy in her heart.

**Meaning of the Story**

The wicked believe they are wise while their evil karma has not yet ripened; when the karmic consequence arrives, they realize their error. The virtuous, doing good, may be called foolish by the world, but when their blessings ripen, they are respected. Do not measure the Buddha’s teachings by the fortunes and misfortunes of your life. Do not let desires or malevolent spirits lead you to abandon the path of righteousness.

*Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang.*