Mrigaputra (मृगापुत्र)

तेणं कालेणं तेणं समएणं चंपा णामं णयरी होत्था । वण्णओ । पुण्णभद्दे चेइए । वण्णओ ।

At that time, at that period, there was a city called Champa; its description follows. There was a garden called Purnabhadra; its description likewise follows.

The canonical opening formula "at that time, at that period" marks the beginning of a sacred transmission. "Time" (kāla) refers to the general era of the fourth descending cycle of the cosmic clock; "period" (samaya) refers specifically to the span of Mahavir's earthly presence — a precise cosmic moment, not a vague "long ago." The precision is intentional: the Vipaak Sutra presents itself not as mythology but as an account of real events in real places known to its original audience. Champa was one of the greatest cities of ancient India — celebrated for wealth, culture, and learning, a capital of the Anga kingdom. The garden Purnabhadra, with its yaksha shrine, was its sacred public gathering-space, a known landmark where monks could stay and assemblies could gather. By opening in Champa's garden — a real, nameable, visitable place — the scripture grounds itself firmly in a world the listener can locate before the story of hidden suffering begins. The world is real. The karma is real. The lesson is meant for real people living real lives.

The simple version: Long ago, in the great city of Champa, there was a beautiful garden — and that is where this story was first told.

तेणं कालेणं तेणं समएणं समणस्स भगवओ महावीरस्स अंतेवासी अज्जसुहम्मे णामं अणगारे जाइसंपण्णे जाव पंचहिं अणगारसईहिं सड्ढिं संपरिवुढे पुढवीं चरमाणे गामाणुगामं दूइज्जमाणे सुहंसुहेणं विहरमाणे जेणेव चंपाणयरी जेणेव पुण्णभद्दे चेइए तेणेव उवागच्छइ । परिसा णिग्गया । धम्मं सोच्चा णिसम्म जामेव दिसिं पाउब्भूया तामेव दिसिं पडिगया ।

At that time, the disciple of Mahavir — the monk Arya Sudharmashvami, endowed with noble birth, accompanied by five hundred monks, wandering village to village across the earth with ease and contentment — arrived at Champa's Purnabhadra garden, accepted lodging, and cultivated his soul through restraint and austerity. The assembly came out, heard the teaching, and returned in the direction from which they had come.

Arya Sudharmashvami was the last surviving chief disciple of Mahavir and the most important link in the chain through whom Mahavir's teachings passed into the canonical Agamas — he is the actual transmitter of the Vipaak Sutra itself. This matters: the scripture is not anonymous. It was spoken by Mahavir, heard by Sudharmashvami, and passed to Jambushvami — and through them, to us. "Wandering from village to village with ease and contentment" (suhamsuhena vihara) describes the Jain monk's ideal way of life: never staying more than a few days in one place, dependent on nothing but the goodwill of the householders who offer food, practicing both restraint (careful avoidance of all harm) and austerity (voluntary reduction of bodily comfort). Five hundred monks traveling together creates a picture of a living, moving university of spiritual practice — not a fixed institution but a flowing stream of wisdom moving through the world. The assembly streaming out spontaneously, hearing the teaching, and quietly dispersing — each person returning in the direction they came from — captures the organic, unhurried, non-coercive way dharma was transmitted in ancient India. No one is compelled to come; no one is kept. The teaching is offered; the listener receives it and goes home to live it.

The simple version: One of Mahavir's great disciples, Sudharmashvami, arrived in Champa with five hundred monks, taught the dharma, and the crowd listened and went home.

तेणं कालेणं तेणं समएणं अज्जसुहम्मस्स अंतेवासी अज्जजंबू णामं अणगारे सतुस्सहे जाव संजमेणं तवसा अप्पाणं भावेमाणे विहरइ । तए णं अज्जजंबू जायसड्ढे जाव जेणेव अज्जसुहम्मे अणगारे तेणेव उवागए, तिक्खुत्तो आयाहिणं पयाहिणं करेइ, वंदइ णमंसइ जाव पज्जुवासमाणे एवं वयासी —

At that time, the disciple of Sudharmashvami — the monk named Arya Jambushvami, full of great energy, dwelling through restraint and austerity — arose filled with faith and longing, approached Sudharmashvami, circumambulated three times clockwise, bowed and saluted reverently, and while sitting in attentive service, spoke thus:

Arya Jambushvami was Sudharmashvami's direct disciple — and, in Jain tradition, the last human being of this cosmic era to attain complete liberation (moksha) through knowledge and renunciation while in a physical body. He is therefore an extraordinary figure: a person whose soul carries within it the final sparks of direct connection to Mahavir's living presence. The triple clockwise circumambulation (pradakshina) is not mere ritual formality — it embodies vinaya, the virtue of humility before one's teacher. In Jain thought, vinaya is considered an absolute prerequisite for true learning: the student who approaches a teacher with arrogance or mere intellectual curiosity cannot truly receive wisdom, because the inner vessel is closed. One circumambulates to make the body itself an act of reverence before the mind even asks its question. "Filled with faith and longing" (jāyasaddhe) is the precise description of the right inner state for receiving teaching — not the cold skepticism of a debater, not the passive emptiness of someone merely listening, but the warm, open, yearning readiness of someone who genuinely wants to know. This is the model the scripture holds up for all learners.

The simple version: Sudharmashvami's student Jambushvami came to ask a question — he circled his teacher three times respectfully, bowed deeply, and then asked.

जइ णं भंते ! समणेणं भगवया महावीरेणं जाव संपत्तेणं दसमस्स अंगस्स पण्हावागरणस्स अयमट्ठे पण्णत्ते, एक्कारसमस्स णं भंते ! अंगस्स विवागसुयस्स समणेणं भगवया महावीरेणं जाव संपत्तेणं के अट्ठे पण्णत्ते ?

"Venerable sir — if the liberated Mahavir has taught the meaning in the tenth scripture, the Prashnavyakarana — then what meaning has he taught in the eleventh scripture, the Vipaak Sutra?"

Jambushvami's question is elegantly framed: he first acknowledges what the tenth Anga teaches before asking about the eleventh. The Jain canonical corpus of twelve Angas is a systematic body of knowledge — each scripture serving a distinct purpose. The title "Vipaak Sutra" itself means "scripture of karmic ripening" — vipaak denotes the fruition or maturation of previously accumulated karma. This single question is the frame through which the entire scripture unfolds; every story that follows is Sudharmashvami's answer to it.

The simple version: Jambushvami asked: "The tenth scripture has been explained — now what is the eleventh scripture, the Vipaak Sutra, actually about?"

तए णं अज्जसुहम्मे अणगारे जंबुं अणगारं एवं वयासी— एवं खलु जंबू ! समणेणं भगवया महावीरेणं जाव संपत्तेणं एक्कारसमस्स अंगस्स विवागसुयस्स दो सुयक्खंधा पण्णत्ता, तं जहा— दुहिव्वागा य सुहिव्वागा य ।

The monk Sudharmashvami replied: "Know this, Jambushvami! The venerable ascetic Mahavir has taught that the Vipaak Sutra has two volumes — the Volume of Suffering Fruition and the Volume of Happiness Fruition."

The division of the Vipaak Sutra into two equal volumes is itself a profound philosophical statement: karma ripens in both directions. The first volume (Duhkhavipak) presents ten stories of beings experiencing severe suffering as the direct fruit of evil deeds. The second volume (Sukhavipak) presents ten stories of beings experiencing great happiness and prosperity as the fruit of virtuous deeds. Together they demonstrate that karma is not punishment handed out by a god — it is a natural, impersonal law of cause and consequence, operating with the same mathematical precision whether the result is suffering or joy. What we experience today is the fruition of choices already made; what we choose today is the seed of what is to come. Understanding this is not meant to produce fatalism — it is meant to produce wisdom. If suffering has causes, those causes can be understood; if those causes can be understood, they can be avoided. The Vipaak Sutra is not a book of doom; it is a manual of spiritual intelligence showing us exactly what kinds of choices lead to what kinds of results, across lifetimes.

The simple version: Sudharmashvami explained: the Vipaak Sutra has two parts — stories of suffering caused by past bad deeds, and stories of happiness caused by past good deeds.

एवं खलु जंबू ! समणेणं भगवया महावीरेणं जाव संपत्तेणं दुहिव्वागाणं दस अज्झयणा पण्णत्ता, तं जहा—
मियापुत्ते य उज्झियए, अभग्ग सगडे बहुस्सई णंदी ।
ऊंबर सोरियदत्ते य, देवदत्ता य अंजू य ।।

"Know this, Jambushvami! The venerable ascetic Mahavir has taught ten chapters in the Volume of Suffering Fruition: Mrigaputra, Ujjhitaka, Abhagna, Shakata, Brihaspati, Nandi, Umbara, Shoriadatta, Devadatta, and Anju."

The ten names are given in a single mnemonic verse — the ancient method by which students memorized the structure of large scriptures before writing was in common use. Each name is a protagonist: a real being enduring extraordinary suffering in their present life as the direct consequence of terrible deeds in a previous birth. These are not parables invented for moral instruction — the Jain tradition holds them as actual accounts of real beings, spoken by an omniscient being who perceived their histories directly with perfect knowledge across time.

The simple version: There are ten stories of suffering — Mrigaputra is first, followed by nine others — each one a real being whose past deeds produced their present pain.

एवं खलु जंबू ! तेणं कालेणं तेणं समएणं मियग्गामे णामं णयरे होत्था । वण्णओ । तस्स णं मियग्गामस्स णयरस्स बहिया उत्तरपुरत्थिमे दिसीभाए चंदणपायवे णामं उज्जाणे होत्था । सव्वोउय पुप्फ फल समिद्धे, वण्णओ । तत्थ णं सुधम्मस्स जक्खस्स जक्खायतणे होत्था ।

"Know this, Jambushvami! At that time, at that period, there was a city called Mrigagram. Outside that city, to the north-east, was a garden called Chandanapādapa — rich with flowers and fruits of every season. In it was a shrine of the yaksha named Sudharm."

With this sutra, the inner story begins — the actual narrative of Chapter 1 opens within the outer frame of the Jambushvami-Sudharmashvami dialogue. Mrigagram (literally "deer-village") is a real city whose description follows standard canonical patterns. The north-east direction was considered auspicious in both Jain and Vedic traditions — gardens, shrines, and sacred spaces were placed there. The Chandanapādapa garden, fragrant with sandalwood trees, blooming in all seasons, is a beautiful outer setting — which will contrast sharply with the underground suffering about to be revealed within the same city walls.

The simple version: The story of Mrigaputra takes place in a city called Mrigagram, which had a beautiful garden to the north-east — and this is where everything is about to unfold.

तत्थ णं मियग्गामे णयरे विजए णामं खत्तिए राया परिवसइ । तस्स णं विजयस्स खत्तियस्स पुत्ते मियाएदेवीए अत्तए मियापुत्ते णामं दारए होत्था । जाइ अंधे, जाइ मूए, जाइ बहिरे, जाइ पंगुले, हुंडे य वायव्वे य । णत्थि णं तस्स दारगस्स हत्था वा पाया वा कण्णा वा अच्छी वा णासा वा । केवलं से तेसिं अंगोवंगाणं आगिई आगिईमेत्ते । तए णं सा मियादेवी तं मियापुत्तं दारगं रहस्सियंसि भूमिघरंसि रहस्सिएणं भत्तपाणेणं पिंडजागरमाणी पिंडजागरमाणी विहरइ ।

In that city of Mrigagram, there lived a Kshatriya king named Vijay. His son — born of Queen Mrigadevi — was a child named Mrigaputra: blind from birth, mute from birth, deaf from birth, lame from birth, misshapen and afflicted with wind-disease. He had no hands, no feet, no ears, no eyes, no nose — only the faintest outline suggesting where those limbs should have been. And Queen Mrigadevi was secretly nourishing him in a hidden underground chamber.

This sutra delivers its revelation with devastating directness: a child who is blind, deaf, mute, limbless, and deformed — hidden underground by a mother too ashamed or afraid to let the world see him. The phrase "only the faintest outline of where limbs should be" conveys a body that is human in form but barely so — a living sketch of a person. From the Jain perspective, this being is not a random tragedy. He is an immortal, conscious soul experiencing the specific fruits of specific past karma, housed in a body that reflects those karmas with precision. Each missing sense organ corresponds to a pattern of harm done in the previous life: the voice that spoke lies now has no tongue, the ears that refused to hear the truth have no ears, the hands that oppressed thousands have no hands. The body becomes the living record of what the soul did with its previous body. The mother's act of hiding him in an underground chamber (bhūmighar — literally "earth-house") while secretly feeding him is not cruelty — it is desperate, devoted concealment. She keeps him alive, but invisible, below the world. And yet, even in this darkness, the child is alive. He feels. He exists. That is the Jain teaching: no condition, however terrible, extinguishes the soul — and no condition lasts forever.

The simple version: King Vijay's son, Mrigaputra, was born completely helpless — no working limbs or senses — and his mother kept him hidden in a secret room underground.

तत्थ णं मियग्गामे णयरे एगे जाइअंधे पुरिसे परिवसइ । से णं एगेणं सच्चखुएणं पुरिसेणं पुराओ दंडेणं पगडिज्जमाणे पगडिज्जमाणे फुट्टहडाहडसीसे मच्छिया-चंगरपहकरेणं अणिण्णज्जमाण मियग्गामे णयरे गिहे गिहे कालुण-वडियाए वित्ति कप्पेमाणे विहरइ ।

In that same city of Mrigagram there also lived a man who was blind from birth; he was led by a sighted guide walking ahead with a stick — his head crawling with lice and flies, his matted filthy hair buzzing with insects — and thus he made his living going from house to house throughout the city, begging out of pitiable necessity.

The blind beggar appears as a secondary figure alongside Mrigaputra — both are blind from birth, but their conditions differ vastly. Mrigaputra is hidden below ground, completely helpless, tended by his mother; the blind beggar moves through the visible world, guided by another, reduced to begging. The graphic detail of lice swarming his head and flies buzzing around him is the text's honest depiction of severe poverty and disability in the ancient world without any social support. This parallel figure establishes that the city contains multiple souls experiencing difficult karmic conditions simultaneously — visible and hidden, above ground and below it.

The simple version: In the same city, there was another man born blind who had to beg from house to house, led by a helper — his head crawling with flies and lice. His condition was visible to all.

तेणं कालेणं तेणं समएणं समणे भगवं महावीरे जाव समोसरिए । परिसा णिग्गया । तए णं से विजए खत्तिए इमीसे कहाए लच्छूए समाणे जहा कुणिए तहा णिग्गए जाव पज्जुवासइ ।

At that time, at that period, the venerable ascetic Mahavir arrived and established his presence near Mrigagram; the assembly streamed out. Then King Vijay, upon hearing the news — just as King Konika of Champa had done — came out and attended upon Mahavir in reverence.

Mahavir's arrival is the turning point of the entire story. The canonical term "samosarie" — arrived and established his sacred presence — indicates that Mahavir did not merely walk into a city: his presence established a field of omniscient awareness in which hidden truths could surface. The assembly streaming out spontaneously reflects the irresistible pull of his presence. King Vijay's response is compared to King Konika's — a shorthand for perfect Kshatriya reverence: circumambulation, prostration, and attentive service. Mahavir's arrival here is not coincidental — omniscient beings move through the world with full awareness of where their presence will serve the greatest purpose.

The simple version: Mahavir arrived near Mrigagram. The whole city came out to see him — including King Vijay, who went and sat respectfully before him.

तए णं से जाइअंधे पुरिसे तं महया जणसद्दं सुणेत्ता तं पुरिसं एवं वयासी— किं णं देवाणुप्पिया ! अज्ज मियग्गामे णयरे इंदमहे इ वा खंदमहे इ वा उज्जाण-गिरिजत्ता इ वा, जओ णं बहवे उग्गा भोगा एगदिसिं णिग्गच्छंति ? तए णं से पुरिसे जाइअंधं पुरिसं एवं वयासी— एवं खलु देवाणुप्पिया ! समणे भगवं महावीरे जाव विहरइ । तए णं जाइअंधे पुरिसे एवं वयासी— गच्छामो णं देवाणुप्पिया ! अम्हे वि समणं भगवं महावीरं पज्जुवासामो । तए णं जाइअंधे पुरिसे पुराओ दंडेणं पुरिसेणं पगडिज्जमाणे जेणेव समणे भगवं महावीरे तेणेव उवागच्छइ, तिक्खुत्तो आयाहिणं पयाहिणं करेइ, वंदइ णमंसइ जाव पज्जुवासइ ।

Hearing the great commotion of the crowd, the born-blind man asked his guide: "Dear friend — is there a festival of Indra, or of Skanda, or a garden procession today? Why are so many noblemen streaming in one direction?" His guide replied: "No — the venerable ascetic Mahavir has arrived." The blind man said: "Then let us also go and attend upon Mahavir." And so, led by his guide, the blind man arrived at Mahavir, circumambulated three times, bowed and saluted, and sat in attendance.

The blind beggar's instinct to go and attend Mahavir — despite his helplessness, despite being blind, despite having to be led — is one of the quietly beautiful moments of this chapter. He cannot see the Teacher, but he hears the crowd and trusts his guide toward something greater. There is a teaching embedded here: the inner impulse toward dharma does not require perfect conditions or perfect senses — it requires only the willingness to move in that direction. His three circumambulations and salutation are performed with the same reverence as a king's. In Mahavir's presence, both king and beggar sit equally in the assembly.

The simple version: The blind beggar heard the crowd and asked what was happening — when he heard it was Mahavir, he said "let's go too" — and was led there and bowed with full reverence.

तेणं कालेणं तेणं समएणं समणस्स भगवओ महावीरस्स जेट्ठे अंतेवासी इंदभूई णामं अणगारे जाव विहरइ । तए णं से भगवं गोयमे तं जाइअंधपुरिसं पासइ, पासित्ता जायसड्ढे एवं वयासी— अत्थि णं भंते ! केई पुरिसे जाइअंधे जाइअंधारूवे ? हंता अत्थि । कहं णं भंते ! ? एवं खलु गोयमा ! इहेव मियग्गामे णयरे विजयस्स खत्तियस्स मियाएदेवीए अत्तए मियापुत्ते णामं दारए जाइअंधे जाइअंधारूवे। तए णं से भगवं गोयमे एवं वयासी— इच्छामि णं भंते ! तुब्भेहिं अब्भणुण्णाए समाणे मियापुत्तं दारगं पासित्तए । अहासुहं देवाणुप्पिया !

Mahavir's senior-most disciple, the monk Indrabhuti (Gautam Swami), saw the born-blind beggar and asked: "Venerable sir, is there anyone who is blind from birth and also of born-blind form — without limbs?" "Yes, there is." "Where, venerable sir?" "In this very city, Gautam — in the family of King Vijay, the child named Mrigaputra." Gautam Swami bowed and said: "Venerable sir, with your permission, I wish to go and see the child Mrigaputra." Mahavir replied: "As you please, beloved of the gods."

Gautam Swami sees the blind beggar moving through the crowd and asks Mahavir a question that goes far deeper than curiosity about that man — his question opens into a hidden reality within the same city. Mahavir's answer is omniscient knowledge made specific: there is a child right here whose condition is even more extreme than the beggar's. Gautam's response — "with your permission, I wish to go and see him" — is the compassionate impulse of a great soul: he is not satisfied by description; he wants to be present with the suffering itself. Mahavir's simple "as you please" is full of trust.

The simple version: Gautam Swami noticed the blind beggar and asked Mahavir about him — and Mahavir revealed there was actually a child in this very city in a far worse condition, hidden underground, and Gautam immediately asked to go see him.

तए णं से भगवं गोयमे समणेणं भगवया महावीरेणं अब्भणुण्णाए समाणे हट्टुट्टे समणस्स भगवओ महावीरस्स अंतियाओ पडिणिक्खमेइ, पडिणिक्खमित्ता अतुरियं जाव रियं सोहेमाणे जेणेव मियग्गामे णयरे तेणेव उवागच्छइ, जेणेव मियाएदेवीए गिहे तेणेव उवागच्छइ ।

Having received Mahavir's permission, Gautam Swami — joyful, with hair standing in delight — departed from Mahavir's presence; departing, he moved unhurriedly, carefully observing the path of proper conduct, and arrived at the city of Mrigagram and at Queen Mrigadevi's house.

The word "haṭṭuṭṭhe" — "joyful, with hair standing in joy" — describes Gautam's inner state as he sets out to visit a child living in hellish conditions. This is not contradiction — for the liberated in heart, the opportunity to be present with suffering, to bring awareness and compassion to a hidden place, is itself a source of deep gladness. The description of his walking — "unhurriedly, carefully observing the path" — refers to the Jain monk's mindful gait (īryāsamiti): walking slowly with eyes cast down to avoid stepping on insects. Even in moving toward a compassionate act, the monk does not abandon mindfulness. Every step is practice.

The simple version: Gautam Swami, happy to have Mahavir's permission, walked carefully and mindfully through the city and arrived at Mrigadevi's house.

तए णं सा मियादेवी भगवं गोयमं एज्जमाणं पासइ, पासित्ता हट्टुट्टे एवं वयासी— संदिसंतु णं देवाणुप्पिया ! किमागमणप्पओयणं ? तए णं भगवं गोयमे मियादेविं एवं वयासी— अहं णं देवाणुप्पिए ! तव पुत्तं पासिउं हव्वमागए । तए णं सा मियादेवी मियापुत्तस्स दारगस्स अणुमग्गजायए चत्तारि पुत्ते सव्वालंकार विभूसिए करेइ, करेत्ता भगवओ गोयमस्स पाएसु पाडेइ, एवं वयासी— एए णं भंते ! मम पुत्ते, पासह ।

Queen Mrigadevi, seeing Gautam Swami approaching, was overjoyed and said: "Tell me, beloved of the gods — what is the purpose of your coming?" Gautam replied: "Dear lady, I have come to see your son." Then Mrigadevi dressed Mrigaputra's four younger brothers — born after him — in full ornaments and finery, placed them at Gautam Swami's feet, and said: "Venerable sir — these are my sons. Please see them."

Mrigadevi's response is poignant and entirely human: when a holy man says "I have come to see your son," she immediately presents her four beautiful, healthy sons — decked in jewelry and finery — and says "here are my sons." She cannot bring herself to say "Mrigaputra" out loud, cannot acknowledge the hidden child underground. It is an act of denial born of shame and grief. She offers what is beautiful and acceptable in place of what is real and concealed. Gautam Swami sees through it instantly — but his response is not rebuke; it is gentle, precise, and compassionate.

The simple version: When Gautam said he came to see her son, Mrigadevi brought out her four other healthy sons and showed them off — she couldn't bring herself to mention the child hidden underground.

तए णं से भगवं गोयमे मियादेविं एवं वयासी— णो खलु देवाणुप्पिए ! अहं एए तव पुत्ते पासिउं हव्वमागए । तत्थ णं जे से तव जेट्ठे मियापुत्ते दारए जाइअंधे जाइअंधारूवे, जं णं तुमं रहस्सियंसि भूमिघरंसि रहस्सिएणं भत्तपाणेणं पिंडजागरमाणी विहरसि, तं णं अहं पासिउं हव्वमागए । तए णं सा मियादेवी एवं वयासी— से के णं गोयमा ! तहारूवे णाणी वा तवस्सी वा, जेणं एसमट्ठे मम ताव रहस्सीकए तुब्भं हव्वमक्खाए ? तए णं भगवं गोयमे एवं वयासी— मम धम्मायरिए समणे भगवं महावीरे — तओ णं अहं जाणामि ।

Gautam Swami said: "No, dear lady — I have not come to see those sons. I have come to see your eldest, Mrigaputra — the one born-blind and without limbs — whom you are secretly nourishing in a hidden underground chamber." Mrigadevi said: "Who is the knower of such wisdom that he revealed to you what I have kept so secret?" Gautam replied: "My teacher, the venerable ascetic Mahavir — from him I know."

Gautam's response dismantles Mrigadevi's protective fiction with complete gentleness: he names the hidden child by name, describes his condition exactly, and names the underground chamber. Nothing is hidden from omniscience. Mrigadevi's question — "who is the knower who revealed my secret?" — is itself a moment of awakening: something she has carefully guarded from the world has been seen by someone whose knowledge reaches beyond physical observation. Gautam's answer is simple: "My teacher, Mahavir." In five words, he points to the source of all that follows.

The simple version: Gautam gently told Mrigadevi he already knew about the hidden child underground — and when she asked how, he said: "My teacher, Mahavir, told me."

जावं च णं मियादेवी भगवया गोयमेण सड्ढिं एयमट्टुं संलवइ, तावं च णं मियापुत्तस्स दारगस्स भत्तवेला जाया विहोत्था । तए णं सा मियादेवी भगवं गोयमं एवं वयासी— तुब्भे णं भंते ! इहं चेव चिट्ठह, जा णं अहं तुब्भं मियापुत्तं उवदंसेमि — जेणेव भत्तपाणघरे तेणेव उवागच्छइ, वत्थपरियट्टणं करेइ, कट्टुसगडियं गिण्हइ, विउलस्स असण-पाण-खाइम-साइमस्स भरेइ, भरित्ता तं कट्टुसगडियं अणुकड्डुमाणी जेणेव भगवं गोयमे तेणेव उवागच्छइ — एह णं तुब्भे भंते ! मम अणुगच्छह, जा णं अहं तुब्भं मियापुत्तं उवदंसेमि ।

While Mrigadevi was conversing with Gautam Swami, the child Mrigaputra's feeding time arrived. She said: "Please wait here, venerable sir — I will show you Mrigaputra." She went to the kitchen, changed her garments, took a wooden cart, filled it with abundant food — solid food, liquids, sweets, and delicacies — and pulling it back, said: "Please follow me, venerable sir — I will show you Mrigaputra." And Gautam Swami followed behind.

The detail of the wooden cart filled with abundant food is revealing: despite keeping her son hidden, Mrigadevi feeds him bountifully — solid meals, liquids, snacks, delicacies. There is fierce, devoted love in this act. The changing of garments before feeding him suggests a ritual purity in her routine — she prepares as one might prepare for a sacred rite, even in this underground sadness. Gautam Swami follows silently. He does not speak, advise, or preach — he simply follows the mother to the hidden child. This is contemplative presence at its finest: the willingness to go into the difficult place and simply witness.

The simple version: It was feeding time, so Mrigadevi packed a cart full of food, changed her clothes, and said "follow me" — and Gautam walked quietly behind her.

तए णं सा मियादेवी तं कट्टुसगडियं अणुकड्डुमाणी जेणेव भूमिघरे तेणेव उवागच्छइ, उवागच्छित्ता चउप्पुडेणं वत्थेणं मुहं बंधेइ, मुहं बंधमाणी भगवं गोयमं एवं वयासी— तुब्भे वि य णं भंते ! मुहपोत्तियाए मुहं बंधह । तए णं से भगवं गोयमे मियादेवीए एवं वुत्ते समाणे मुहपोत्तियाए मुहं बंधेइ ।

Arriving at the underground chamber, Mrigadevi bound her face with a four-layered cloth and said to Gautam Swami: "You too, venerable sir — cover your nose and mouth with your mouth-cloth." And Gautam Swami, hearing this, covered his mouth with his muhapatti.

The four-layered cloth Mrigadevi wraps around her face before opening the underground chamber directly signals the terrible stench within. Jain monks carry a muhapatti (small mouth-cloth) as part of their standard equipment — originally to avoid accidentally inhaling small insects, but here used to shield against an overpowering odor. That even a monk trained in extreme austerity needs to cover his nose before entering tells us something about the severity of what lies behind that door. Mrigadevi has done this countless times alone, in secret — covering her face, opening the chamber, feeding her child in stench and darkness. The enormity of her daily act of love becomes fully visible here.

The simple version: When they reached the underground room, Mrigadevi covered her nose with a thick cloth and told Gautam to cover his too — because the smell inside was overwhelming.

तए णं सा मियादेवी परमुही भूमिघरस्स दुवारं विहाडेइ । तए णं गंधे णिग्गच्छइ, से जहाणामए अहिमडे इ वा, गोमडे इ वा, सुणहमडे इ वा, मज्जारमडे इ वा, मणुस्समडे इ वा, महिसमडे इ वा, मूसगमडे इ वा, आसमडे इ वा, हत्थिमडे इ वा, सीहमडे इ वा, वग्गमडे इ वा, दीविगमडे इ वा — मयकुहिय-विणटु-दुरिभि-दुभिगंधे किमिजालाउलसंसत्ते असुहि-विलीण-विगय-बीभच्छ दरिसणिज्जे भवेयारूवे सिया ? णो इणट्ठे समट्ठे — एत्तो अणिट्टतराए चेव अकंततराए चेव अप्पियतराए चेव अमणुण्णतराए चेव गंधे पण्णत्ते । तए णं से मियापुत्ते दारए तस्स विउलस्स असण-पाण-खाइम-साइमस्स गंधेणं अभिभूए समाणे तेसिं विउलंसि असण-पाण-खाइम-साइमंमि मुच्छिए तं विउलं असण-पाण-खाइमं साइमं आसएणं आहारेइ, आहारित्ता खिप्पामेव विद्धंसेइ, तओ पच्छा पूयताए य सोणियताए य परिणमेइ; तं पि य णं से पूयं च सोणियं च आहारेइ ।

Mrigadevi, turning her face away, opened the door of the underground chamber. A smell came out — was it like a dead snake, a dead cow, a dead dog, a dead cat, a dead human, a dead buffalo, a dead rat, a dead horse, a dead elephant, a dead lion, a dead tiger, a dead panther — rotted, swarming with maggots, dissolving, revolting beyond sight? The text declares: No — the smell was far worse than any of those — more repulsive, more unbearable, more disagreeable, more abhorrent than all of them combined. Then the child Mrigaputra — overwhelmed by the smell of the food — consumed it reflexively; and the food immediately transformed, disintegrating into pus and blood — and he consumed even the pus and blood as his nourishment.

This sutra is perhaps the most viscerally confronting passage in the chapter — and it is written that way deliberately. The Vipaak Sutra does not flinch from what fully ripened karma actually looks like. The elaborate list of dead animals — twelve species built up carefully, and then demolished: no, not like any of those, not even close — forces the reader to fully feel the magnitude of what is present in that underground room. The scripture is saying: there are no ordinary words for this. The food turning instantly to pus and blood is the condition called Agnika (fire-disease) — the karmic body made fully visible in the most devastating way possible. In Jain karmic understanding, the reason for this disease is precise: Ikaai Rathod spent his entire previous life systematically destroying other people's nourishment and sustenance — taxing villages into starvation, taking their food through force, leaving families with nothing. Now he inhabits a body in which nourishment itself is destroyed the moment it is received: every meal becomes rot, every gift of food becomes decay. The correspondence between the crime and the fruition is exact. He gave others rot instead of sustenance; he receives rot instead of sustenance. And yet, even in this horror, the child is alive. He consumes even the pus and blood. He continues to exist. That is the Jain teaching: no condition, however terrible, extinguishes the soul. The fire of karma can reduce a life to ash, but the soul itself is indestructible — and waits, across countless rebirths, for its chance to turn toward freedom.

The simple version: When the underground room opened, the smell was beyond anything imaginable — and inside, Mrigaputra ate the food that was brought, but it turned to pus and blood in his body the moment he swallowed it.