“The trees are now crimson, venerable sir,
They’ve shed their foliage, and are ready to fruit.
They’re splendid, as if on fire;
Great hero, this period is full of flavour.
The blossoming trees are delightful,
Wafting their scent all around, in all directions,
They’ve shed their leaves and wish to fruit,
Hero, it is time to depart from here.
It is neither too hot nor too cold,
Venerable sir, it’s a pleasant season for travelling.
Let the Sākiyas and Koḷiyas see you,
Facing west as you cross the Rohiṇī river.
In hope, the field is ploughed;
The seed is sown in hope;
In hope, merchants travel the seas,
Carrying rich cargoes.
The hope that I stand for:
May it succeed!
Again and again, they sow the seed;
Again and again, the king of gods sends rain;
Again and again, farmers plough the field;
Again and again, grain is produced for the nation.
Again and again, the beggars wander,
Again and again, the donors give,
Again and again, when the donors have given,
Again and again, they go to their place in heaven.
A hero of vast wisdom purifies seven generations
Of the family in which they’re born.
Sakya, I believe you’re the king of kings,
Since you fathered the one who is truly called a sage.
The father of the great sage is named Suddhodana;
But the Buddha’s mother is named Māyā.
Having borne the Bodhisatta in her womb,
She rejoices in the heaven of the Thirty-Three.
When she died and passed away from here,
She was blessed with divine sensual pleasures;
Rejoicing in the five kinds of sensual pleasures,
Gotamī is surrounded by those hosts of gods.”
“I’m the son of the Buddha, the incomparable Aṅgīrasa, the poised—
I bear the unbearable.
You, Sakya, are my father’s father;
Gotama, you are my grandfather in the Dhamma.”