A celibate monk shouldn’t fall in love,
and though he hankers after pleasure he should hold himself
in check
for these are the pleasures which some monks enjoy.
If a monk breaks his vows.
and falls for a woman,
she upbraids him and raises her foot to him.
and kicks him on the head.
‘Monk, if you won’t live with me
as husband and wife,
I’ll pull out my hair and become a nun,
for you shall not live without me!’
But when she has him in her clutches
it’s all housework and errands!
‘Fetch a knife to cut this gourd!
Get me some fresh fruit!’
‘We want wood to boil the greens,
and for a fire in the evening!
Now paint my feet!
Come and massage my back!’
‘Get me my lip salve!
Find my sunshade and slippers!
I want a knife to cut these leaves!
Take my robe and have it dyed blue!’
‘Fetch me my tweezers and my comb!
Get me a ribbon to tie my hair!
Now pass me my looking-glass!
Go and fetch me my toothbrush!’
‘Fetch the pot and the drum and the rag-ball,
for our little boy to play with!
Monk, the rains are on the way,
patch the roof of the house and look to the stores!’
‘See to getting that chair upholstered!
Fetch my wooden-soled slippers to go out walking!’
So pregnant women boss their husbands,
just as though they were household slaves.
When a child is born, the reward of their labours,
she makes the father hold the baby.
And sometimes the fathers of sons
stagger under their burdens like camels.
They get up at night, as though they were nurses,
to lull the howling child to sleep,
and, though they are shame-faced about it,
scrub dirty garments, just like washermen . . .
So, monks, resist the wiles of women,
avoid their friendship and company.
The little pleasure you get from them
will only lead you into trouble!
Translated from the Prakrit by A.L. Basham