Introduction
This Translation
The Udānavarga, with its 33 chapters and (in this simplified edition) There are a number of verses I omitted that appeared in Bernhard’s edition, either because no akṣara at all were visible, or too few to add anything substantial in the translation. 1053 verses, is by far the largest extant collection of Dharmapada-type verses. It vastly outnumbers the other major collections that we have now. By comparison, the Patna Dhammapada has 22 chapters with 414 verses, and the Pāḷi has 26 chapters with 423. Brough estimated that there were approximately 540 verses Brough, pg 17. in the Gāndhārī Dharmapada, of which only some 350 are available to us now, the rest having been lost. There may have been as many of 27-28 chapters in that text. Brough, pg 14.
This large collection is attributed to Ven. Dharmatrāta in the Chinese and Tibetan traditions. Dharmatrāta seems to have written a commentary on the collection, which does not appear to be extant now. He was known as an Abhidharma master who lived around the 2nd century CE, He is sometimes cited in the Mahāvibhāṣa. and belonged to the Dārṣtāntika branch of the Sarvāstivāda. The association with Dharmatrāta may reflect his role as a redactor, commentator, or simply lend authority to a pre-existing collection.
Both the Tibetan and the Chinese texts have been translated previously; the Tibetan was translated by Rockhill, William Woodville, trans. (1883). “Udānavarga: a collection of verses from the Buddhist canon compiled by Dharmatrāta being the Northern Buddhist version of Dhammapada, transl. from the Tibetan of the Bkah-hgyur, with notes and extracts from the commentary of Pradjnāvarman.” Prof. Charles Willeman has translated “The Chinese Udānavarga, a collection of important odes of the law Fa chi yao sung ching”.
I first worked on the Udānavarga while preparing A Comparative Edition of the Dhammapada in 2004. Later I published the text along with two studies in 2006. After completing my translation of the Patna Dhammapada in 2017, I had intended to make a translation of the Udānavarga. That intention was stalled when I learned that my good friend and colleague at the International Buddhist College, Prof. Lobsang Jamspal, was undertaking a translation from the Tibetan, referenced against the Sanskrit. Tragically, his work was never completed, and he passed away in 2024, and so I have taken up the work again.
This is the first complete translation of the Sanskrit text as far as I am aware of into English, although Peter Skilling has translated the first chapter (Anityavarga) previously. It was reproduced in his collection Buddha’s Words for Tough Times. Unfortunately the translation of that chapter was not available to me.
It has sometimes been possible to adhere fairly closely to the Sanskrit word order (1.35):
Aciraṁ bata kāyo ’yaṁ pṛthivīm adhiśeṣyate,
śunyo vyapetavijñāno, nirastaṁ vā kaḍaṅgaram.
In no long time, alas, this body upon the earth will lie, empty, without consciousness, cast away like a piece of wood.
And again (1.36):
Kim anena śarīreṇa, sravatā pūtinā sadā?
Nityaṁ rogābhibhūtena, jarāmaraṇabhīruṇā.
What is it with this body, oozing and foul always? It is constantly overcome by sickness, terrified of old age and death.
But many times the need for compression and ellipsis in the text has made this impossible. For example (17.7): na te taranti saritāṁ, tīrṇā medhāvino janāḥ. If we use word order as a guide, we would get a meaning: they are not (na) crossing the waters, the intelligent people have crossed over; but the context of the verse makes it clear that what it actually means is almost the opposite (17.7):
Ye taranty ārṇavaṁ nityaṁ, kolaṁ baddhvā janāḥ śubham,
na te taranti saritāṁ, tīrṇā medhāvino janāḥ.
Those people who, after binding a good raft, continously cross over a sea, they are still crossing the waters, not na the intelligent people, who have crossed over.
Types of Verses
As mentioned I have previously analysed the metres (chandas) of the Udānavarga, and I initially had an idea to analyse the rhetoric (alaṅkāra) in this translation, but after looking into this I decided that the classical categories, which grew up around classical and court poetry, did not seem to apply very well. I have therefore looked at the verses afresh according to their actual form and function, and divided them into the following four categories.
Simple Statements (stm.)
This is by far the common form that the verses take, and I count 794 of these verses having this form. These verses constitute the doctrinal bedrock. Their power lies not in commanding action but in reframing perception. By stating “this is how things are” (yathābhūtaṁ), they seek to overwrite the learner’s innate, mistaken assumptions about permanence, pleasure, and self.
The ethical imperative is often implicit because, in the Buddhist worldview, wisdom (prajñā) naturally and necessarily leads to ethical reorientation (śīla). They present an impersonal, almost factual diagnosis of the human condition, leaving the emotional and ethical response to arise organically in the discerning student. This category is an engine of wisdom.
A verse may say for instance (1.3):
Anityā bata saṁskārā, utpādavyayadharmiṇaḥ,
utpadya hi nirudhyante, teṣāṁ vyupaśamaḥ sukham.
Conditioned things are indeed impermanent, their nature is arising and decaying, after arising they cease, the stilling of them is good.
The implication is that, if you see that this is the truth, you should indeed strive to still conditioned things.
Or, again (2.6):
Etad dṛḍhaṁ bandhanam, āhur āryāḥ,
samantataḥ susthiraṁ duṣpramokṣam,
etad api cchitvā tu parivrajanti
hy anapekṣiṇaḥ, kāmasukhaṁ prahāya.
This is a strong bond, say the noble ones, very firm on all sides and hard to escape from, having cut this down, the unconcerned wander forth, abandoning the enjoyment of sense desires.
Which clearly implies that we should be unconcerned, wander forth, and abandon sense desires.
Others of this kind, do not have an implied ethical imperative about them, but simply describe reality, helping us to reorientate our view of the world (1.6):
Yām eva prathamāṁ rātriṁ garbhe vasati mānavaḥ,
aviṣṭhitaḥ sa vrajati, gataś ca na nivartate.
From the very first night that a person dwells in the womb, unsteadily one goes, having gone without turning back.
or again (1.7):
Sāyam eke na dṛśyante kālyaṁ dṛṣṭā mahājanāḥ,
kālyaṁ caike na dṛṣṭante sāyaṁ dṛṣṭā mahājanāḥ.
Some of the many folk seen in the morning do not see the evening, some of the many folk seen in the evening do not see the morning.
Although these types of verses cannot be said to have an imperative about them, still, I think, we can recognise the truth of what is being said, and that these things are important to understand, from a practice point of view, and they may give rise to saṁvega, a sense of urgency, which is a key emotion in the spiritual life, and may work in some cases precisely by withholding an explicit moral, and presenting a stark reality.
Admonitory Verses (adm.)
These are more direct verses, saying that we should (optative mood) or must (imperative mood) do something, or that something is to be done (gerundive mood). They occur much less than the simple statement type of verse, I count 177 such verses in this collection. These are not arbitrary commands but prescriptions that logically follow from the truths declared in the simple statements. They are the training rules (śikṣā) that mould behavior and mind in accordance with reality. We have to look at these carefully, because although the imperative is always admonitory in mood, the same cannot be said for the optative or the gerundive.
In the optative mood we find, for instance (3.18):
Etad ādīnavaṁ jñātvā – tṛṣṇā duḥkhasya saṁbhavam –
vītatṛṣṇo hy anādānaḥ, smṛto bhikṣuḥ parivrajet.
Knowing this danger – that craving is the source of suffering – being without craving, not grasping, the monastic should wander mindfully.
This could also be classified as a simple statement (craving is the source of suffering), but I have not counted it as such, in order to keep the main types separate. Therefore if a verse contains an admonition, it is simply classified as admonitory alone. The same applies to the other categories also.
As mentioned above not all optatives are admonitory in function. Some are simple statements, such as (3.17):
Yathāpi śalyo dṛḍham ātmanā kṛtas
tam eva hanyād balasā tv adhiṣṭhitaḥ,
tathā tv ihādhyātmasamutthitā latās
tṛṣṇā vadhāyopanayanti prāṇinām.
Just as a firmly fastened dart, made by oneself, lodged there, would optative strongly hurt that one, so too the creepers of craving, arisen within oneself here, lead breathing beings to destruction.
The imperative mood seems to stress the necessity of action in a much stronger form, often signaling an escalation in urgency (saṁvega), suitable for rousing the negligent (4.33-34):
Uttiṣṭhata vyāyamata, dṛḍhaṁ śikṣata śāntaye!
Asmṛtiś ca pramādaś caivānutthānam asaṁyamaḥ,
nidrā tandrīr anāyoga – ete śikṣāntarāyikāḥ,
tad aṅgaṁ pratibudhyadhvaṁ! Smṛtir māntaradhīyata!
Rouse yourselves, strive, train steadfastly for peace! Lack of mindfulness, heedlessness, laziness, lack of restraint, sleep, lethargy, lack of application – these are obstacles to the training, wake up to that fact! Do not lose mindfulness!
Again, because of the middle two lines, this could be classed as a simple statement, but the admonitions at the beginning and the end of the verses override that classification here.
The gerundive mood can also have an advisory tone to it, as in the following (12.9):
Ākhyāto vo mayā mārgas, tv ajñāyai śalyakṛntanaḥ,
yuṣmābhir eva karaṇīyam, ākhyātāras Tathāgatāḥ.
The path was declared to you by me, the cutting of the darts of ignorance, this is indeed to be done (gerundive) by you, the Realised Ones only point the way.
Another case may be cited (31.2):
Vārijo vā sthale kṣipta, okād oghāt samuddhṛtaḥ,
parispandati vai cittaṁ, Māradheyaṁ prahātavai.
Like a fish thrown up on dry land, or drawn out from the watery current, the mind is agitated indeed, the realm of Māra is to be abandoned (gerundive).
As with the optative, the gerundive does not necessarily have an imperative sense though. The following is a simple statement (4.19):
Yat kṛtyaṁ tad apaviddham, akṛtyaṁ kriyate punaḥ,
uddhatānāṁ pramattānāṁ, teṣāṁ vardhanti āsravāḥ,
āsravās teṣu vardhante, ārāt te hy āsravakṣayāt.
What is to be done (gerundive), that is rejected, what is not to be done (gerundive) is done again, for the arrogant and the heedless, their pollutants increase, the pollutants grow in them, they are far from the pollutants’ destruction.
Rhetorical Questioning (rh.q.)
This is an important device which is used on 48 occasions, and is a profoundly effective pedagogical tool. Unlike a statement, which can be passively received, a rhetorical question actively engages the listener’s mind, forcing them to internally search for—and thereby own—the answer. The form often breaks a didactic monologue, creating a moment of self-interrogation. Sometimes we simply get a list of questions (1.4):
Ko nu harṣaḥ ka ānanda, evaṁ prajvalite sati?
Andhakāraṁ praviṣṭāḥ stha, pradīpaṁ na gaveṣatha?
Why this laughter, what is this joy, while being burned thus? You have entered the darkness, do you not seek for the light?
The questions “Why this laughter?” and “Do you not seek the light?” are not requests for information but are accusations and provocations. They mirror the function of a teacher challenging a student. Of course, this again has ethical implications, suggesting that we should, indeed, seek for the light.
Note that sometimes, like the optative, rhetorical questions are combined with simple statements, whereby a statement of fact is made, and then a question is raised (5.1):
Priyebhyo jāyate śokaḥ, priyebhyo jāyate bhayam,
priyebhyo vipramuktānāṁ nāsti śokaḥ, kuto bhayam?
From the beloved arises grief, from the beloved arises fear, for those fully freed from the beloved there is no grief, how is there fear?
These are classified as rhetorical questions, and not as simple statements.
Declarative Verses (decl.)
Some of the verses in this collection are declaratives from a first person standpoint. First-person declarations, especially those attributed to the Buddha or an arhat, serve a triple function:
1) Testimonial: They offer proof that the doctrine is realisable. “I have done this” validates the admonitions.
2) Aspirational: They provide a model for the student’s own inner narrative, encouraging them to aspire for further success.
3) Epistemic Authority: They establish the speaker’s authority to speak, having reached the culmination of the path.
For instance, there is a simple declaration (2.1):
Kāma jānāmi te mūlaṁ, saṁkalpāt kāma jāyase,
na tvāṁ saṁkalpayiṣyāmi, tato me na bhaviṣyasi.
Desire, I know your root, from thought, desire, you arise, I will not think of you, therefore you will not be for me.
This is definitely aspirational, not indicating completion, but knowing how to get there. These may be combined with other categories—such as with rhetorical questionings—the Buddha says (21.1):
Sarvābhibhūḥ Sarvavid eva cāsmi,
sarvaiś ca dharmaiḥ satataṁ na liptaḥ,
sarvaṁjahaḥ, sarvabhayād vimuktaḥ,
svayaṁ hy abhijñāya, kam uddiśeyam.
All-Conquering, All-Wise am I, always undefiled by all phenomena, having given up everything, freed from all danger, deeply knowing myself, who should I point out?
These verses I classify as declarative, even though they culminate with a question, because the verse serves to establish the speaker’s credentials, grounding the entire text’s authority in lived experience rather than abstract philosophy.
Many of these sorts of statements are attributed directly to the Buddha, which are spoken in the singular number; but they may also be spoken in the plural, and be attributed to Arahats (30.43):
Susukhaṁ bata jīvāmo hy utsukeṣu tv anutsukāḥ,
utsukeṣu manuṣyeṣu viharāmo hy anutsukāḥ.
We who are without longing indeed live happily amongst those who are longing, amongst humans who are longing we live without longing.
The plural declarations expand this from the singular Buddha to the enlightened community (Āryāsaṅgha), showing the path’s repeatable success.
These are the main types of verses that I have identified in this collection, and while these categories are useful for analytical clarity, we must note that the verses often blend modes. This very blending mirrors the integrated nature of the Buddhist path: insight (stm.) inspires effort (adm.), which is guided by self-inquiry (rh.q.), culminating in a transformed state of being (decl.).
Together, these forms create a complete pedagogical cycle, designed not just to inform but to transform the person who engages with them. This framework, I feel, could be used for analysing other didactic verse collections, such as the Dhammapada or the Gāthā literature generally, where form is inextricably linked to soteriological function.
I have made an exclusive categorisation of these four, so that they are classified as one or the other, but not both. There is a hiearchy involved, first declarative types, second rhetorical questions, third admonitory, and then simple statements.
Figures of Speech
What was said just above does not apply to the figures of speech which I now take up for examination. The two main categories I have identified here are similes and analogies. As these are figures of speech, they do not clash with the above types, and so the verses may be classified as both simple statements, etc. and containing similes or analogies, as many of them are.
Similes (sim.)
Similes are used in around 250 of the verses, their usefulness in verse lies in how they can illustrate the truths being announced. Indeed they seem, in very few words, to conjure up in the mind a memorable picture, forming an association, which may even come to mind, when the listener sees various things in the course of their everyday life. Their prevalence underscores a core teaching method of the Buddha: truth is best grasped not through doctrine alone, but through resonant, visualisable images that are easy to retain in the memory and re-contextualise everyday perception.
Sometimes this is done with a figure drawn from the natural world. For instance a ripe fruit falling from its stalk must have been a very familiar scene in the Buddha’s day, and the listener is being trained here to see the Dharma in the world around them: every ripe fruit becomes a memento mori. (1.10):
Ye ca vṛddhā, ye ca dahrā, ye ca madhyamapuruṣāḥ,
anupūrvaṁ pravrajanti, phalaṁ pakvaṁ va bandhanāt.
Those people who are old, those who are young, and those who are middle-aged, they depart in due order, like a ripe fruit from its stalk.
The figures do not need to be drawn from nature, but sometimes well-known objects in industry can be used to illustrate a point (2.10):
Anupūrveṇa medhāvī, stokaṁ stokaṁ kṣaṇe kṣaṇe
karmāro rajatasyaiva nirdhamen malam ātmanaḥ.
Gradually, little by little, moment by moment, the intelligent one should remove his own impurities, just as a smith would remove the silver’s impurities.
Sometimes more than one simile is used in a verse. Here we have two very different pictures presented to us, of milk, which illustrates what we might call karmic latency, because it is not usually immediate in effect, but gradually somes about; and of fire, showing that deeds done can be like a hidden, but equally dangerous fire, covered over, for now by ashes (9.17):
Na hi pāpakṛtaṁ karma, sadyaḥ kṣīram iva mūrchati,
dahantad bālam anveti, bhasmācchanna ivānalaḥ.
For a deed that has been badly done, like milk, does not sour immediately, smouldering, it follows the fool, like a fire covered with ashes.
Sometimes the simile is quite complex, almost like a small story:
Pramādam apramādena yadā nudati paṇḍitaḥ,
prajñāprāsādam āruhya, tv aśokaḥ, śokinīṁ prajām,
parvatasthaiva bhūmisthāṁ dhīro bālān avekṣate.
When the wise one eliminates heedlessness through heedfulness, mounting the palace of wisdom, griefless, on grieving people, on the fools, the steadfast one looks down, like one standing on a mountain looks down on those standing on the plains.
The complex, narrative simile in the verse above functions as an archetypal map: it charts the journey from effort (pramāda) to elevated insight (prajñāprāsāda), rendering the internal, spiritual ascent as a vivid, external drama. The embedded metaphor (the palace of wisdom) shows that these figures are fluid, working in concert to build understanding.
For collections of similes see especially the chapters on Water (17), Flowers (18), and Horses (19), but note that they occur throughout the text.
Analogy (ana.)
Similar to similes are analogies, and I find analogies in over 60 of the verses in this collection. But whereas similes have a word of comparison (yathā, iva, vā, -vad), in an analogy these sorts of words are missing, and you have to draw your own conclusions, which might even engage the listener more actively.
To illustrate this the following doesn’t say transmigration is long, just as, or like the night is long, or the league is long, you are left to draw that conclusion for yourself (1.19):
Dīrghā jāgarato rātrir, dīrghaṁ śrāntasya yojanam,
dīrgho bālasya saṁsāraḥ Saddharmam avijānataḥ.
Long is the night for one awake, long is a league for one tired, long is transmigration for a fool who knows not the True Dharma.
The above verse refers to something familiar from anyone’s experience of sleep or walking, which can then be applied to the chief teaching: that transmigration can be very long indeed.
Analogies, like similes, may be drawn from nature also, note how these function something like diagnostic models of behaviour. The farmer knows that fields are ruined by weeds, and then can apply that to how people are similarly ruined by passion, hatred, etc. We also see how the moral lesson of giving to the virtuous is encouraged here, because that will have great fruit (another obvious metaphor) (16.16):
Kṣetrāṇi tṛṇadoṣāṇi, rāgadoṣā tv iyaṁ prajā,
tasmād vigatarāgebhyo dattaṁ bhavati mahāphalam.
Fields are ruined by weeds, this generation is ruined by passion, therefore what is given to those without passion has great fruit.
Sometimes there is a thin line between analogy and metaphor, as in the following verse (4.5):
Utthānenāpramādena, saṁyamena damena ca,
dvīpaṁ karoti medhāvī tam ogho nābhimardati.
Through energy, heedfulness, and through restraint and training, the intelligent one makes an island that a flood cannot destroy.
or in the fragrance of the good which pervades all directions (6.16):
Na puṣpagandhaḥ prativātam eti,
na vāhnijāt tagarac candanād vā,
satāṁ tu gandhaḥ prativātam eti,
sarvā diśaḥ satpuruṣaḥ pravāti.
The fragrance of flowers does not go against the wind, nor do jasmine, pinwheel or sandalwood, but the fragrance of the good does go against the wind, the good person pervades all directions.
Sometimes analogies can be quite opaque, as in the following (6.14):
Channam evābhivarṣati, vivṛtaṁ nābhivarṣati,
tasmād dhi cchannaṁ vivared, evaṁ taṁ nābhivarṣati.
It rains down on what is covered, it does not rain down on what is open, therefore, one should open up what is covered, so it does not rain down on it.
The commentary on the Pāḷi parallel to this verse says that it is about the covering up and revealing in confession of offences against the monastic code. This shows how the verse could set up an explanatory situation, where the recitor would proceed to use the commentary to open up the meaning.
Collectively, these figures transform the Udānavarga from a simple treatise into a reconfiguring of perception. They equip the learner not just with statements to believe, or advice to follow, but with a new way to see the world, and to always be immersed in Dharma. A smith at his forge, a covered vessel, a field overrun—these cease to be merely themselves and become constant reminders of the workings of the mind, karma, and ethical cultivation.
Metaphors
We have mentioned metaphors above, and while similes and analogies illustrate truths through explicit or implicit comparison, metaphors operate by a more direct form of identification. For instance, they do not say “the disciplined mind is like an island”; they say the wise one “makes an island” (4.5). This linguistic fusion enlivens the verse with exceptional concision, collapsing the distance between the concrete image and the abstract principle. The metaphor does not just describe; it reconstitutes reality in doctrinal terms.
I have identified similes and analogies alongside the verse numbers. I have not done this with metaphors, as they rarely govern the meaning of the verse, as the former do. But here I will list some of them, to highlight them and give an idea of how they work:
The palace of wisdom; the army of death; the root of misery, Death’s bait; the fragrance of virtue; his speech is sweet; one crosses the flood; the darts of ignorance; the cutting of thorns of craving; the weapon of wisdom; has great fruit; is established on the (far) shore; cutting off Māra’s flowers; the drum of the Deathless; leading out of the forest; the taste of solitude, etc., etc. These serve to enliven the verse, in a way that is similar to similes and analogies, but is even more concise.
The metaphors therefore are not mere ornaments. They form a coherent vocabulary that maps the spiritual landscape:
Whereas a simile might ask the listener to contemplate a relationship, a metaphor seeks to change perception instantly. Hearing of “the drum of the Deathless,” the mind does not compare; it is presented with a new, potent object that is resonant and calling for attention. These metaphors, woven throughout the text, build a dense network of associative meaning, making the teachings cohesive and memorable. They are the linguistic embodiment of the Buddha’s skill-in-means (upāya-kauśalya), using the world’s imagery to point to the way beyond it.
Notice how figures of journey and refuge spatialize the path from suffering to liberation: Crossing the flood, reaching the far shore, leading out of the forest. Conflict and protection function in a similar way: The army of Death, Māra’s flowers, the weapon of wisdom, the drum of the Deathless frame the spiritual life as a struggle, arming the practitioner with specific, personified forces. Then we have what must have been very familiar to the listener, agriculture and sensation: The root of misery, great fruit, the fragrance of virtue, sweet speech, the taste of solitude translate ethical and meditative qualities into immediate, sensory experiences, suggesting their natural, cultivable, and palpable qualities.
Concision and Ellipsis
One of the striking characteristics of the verse texts is the concision with which things are stated. Most of the verses are in the Śloka metre, giving 32 syllables if the verse is—as it normally is—made up of four lines; or 48 syllables if it is an extended six-line verse. The other popular metrical form is the Triṣṭubh, which is usually four lines of eleven syllables each. This usually gives somewhere between ten and twenty words within which to express a thought sequence.
This pressure for economy gives rise to a dense, elliptical style where grammatical elements must often be supplied by the reader. Understanding this is essential for correctly interpreting the doctrine being conveyed. The verse often provides a skeleton of meaning which the listener, trained in the Dharma, is expected to flesh out.
This sometimes leads to a very condensed form of expression, and it many of these verses we find that words that would be stated twice in prose, are only written once, and must be extrapolated to fill in meaning.
Negatives
As an example of how this works with negatives, we can look at this verse, where we first get a straightforward statement, and then na (not) is applied to two verbs (26.2):
Kṣāntiḥ paramaṁ tapas titīkṣā,
Nirvāṇaṁ paramaṁ vadanti Buddhāḥ,
na hi pravrajitaḥ paropatāpī,
śramaṇo bhavati paraṁ viheṭhayaṁ vai.
Enduring forbearance is the supreme austerity, Nirvāṇa is supreme say the Buddhas, for one gone forth is not (na) one who hurts another, an ascetic is not (na) one who harasses another.
That is very straightforward, I think. A more complex example if where there are two negatives, that are applied three times, as in the second line of this verse (28.30):
Pāpe tu kṛte hi nāśvasec, cirakṛte dūrakṛte ’pi nāśvaset,
rahasi ca kṛte ’pi nāśvased, asti tasya vipāka iti nāśvaset.
But one should not take comfort in demerit that has been done, one should not even take comfort in what was done long ago or far away, and one should not (na) take comfort in deeds done in secret, one should not (na) take comfort thinking, it has no (na) result.
If we don’t apply the last of the negatives twice we end of with doctrinal confusion, and it would say: one should not (na) take comfort thinking, it has a result. There is no comfort of course in realising your bad deeds have a result in the end.
Here the negative has to be applied to both the past participle (a noun) and the optative (a verb) (8.9):
Na ca mukte pramuñcet tāṁ, muñcamāno hi bādhyate,
naivam Āryāḥ pramuñcanti, muktā bālair hi pāpikā.
One should not (na) set free that wickedness which is not (na) free, the one freeing it is afflicted, not in this way do the Noble Ones set it free, but wickedness is set free by fools.
We should note here that because of concision word order is often not a guide to meaning, or can actually confuse meaning, if we are not aware of this fact. For example, the negative at the beginning of the second pādayuga affects the verb at the end of it (22.17.i):
Bahu śṛṇoti śrotreṇa, bahū paśyati cakṣuṣā,
na tad dṛṣṭaṁ śrutaṁ dhīraḥ sarvaṁ śraddhātum arhati.
One hears much with the ear, one sees many things with the eye, the steadfast one ought (arhati) not (na) to have faith in all that is seen and heard.
We saw above that a single negative might affect both a noun and a verb. Here the negative affects both the verb (caret) and the manner (dharmeṇa) (13.7):
Na vyāyamente sarvatra, nānyeṣāṁ puruṣo bhavet,
nānyāṁ niḥśritya jīveta, dharmeṇa na vaṇik caret.
One should not endeavour everywhere, one should not be a person belonging to others, one should not live relying on another, a merchant should not (na) live unrighteously (un- = na).
Verbs
Sometimes it is not negatives that are applied twice, but verbs. This is especially so when similes are being used (25.13):
Yāvajjīvaṁ pi ced bālaḥ paṇḍitāṁ paryupāsate,
na sa Dharmaṁ vijānāti, darvī sūparasān iva.
Even if a fool attends on a wise man for his whole life long, he does not learn (vijānāti) the Dharma, just as a spoon does not learn (vijānāti) the tastes of curry.
Note that in the last line the negative is again applied twice.
Another example (4.10):
Pramādam anuvartante bālā durmedhaso janāḥ,
apramādaṁ tu medhāvī, dhanaṁ śreṣṭhīva rakṣati.
Fools, unintelligent people, indulge in heedlessness, but the intelligent one guards (rakṣati) heedfulness, like one guards (rakṣati) the greatest wealth.
It isn’t always necessary, or useful, to reduplicate the verb in a simile, as an example, this makes perfect sense as it is (1.18):
Atiyānti hy ahorātrā, jīvitaṁ coparudhyate,
āyuḥ kṣīyati martyānāṁ, kunadīṣu yathaudakam.
Days and nights pass by, life is being consumed, the life of mortals wastes away, like water in shallow streams.
Here, in English, as in the Sanskrit, we do not need to repeat the verb wastes away for the meaning to be complete and understandable.
Another case is at 18.1c-d:
Ko Dharmapadaṁ sudeśitaṁ, kuśalaḥ puṣpam iva praceṣyate?
Who will examine (praceṣyate) the well-taught Dharma verses, as a skilful person will examine (praceṣyate) flowers?
We will look at this verse again below.
An interesting case is this one at 2.10, where both the verb nirdhamen (should remove), and the noun malam (impurities) must be understood twice:
Anupūrveṇa medhāvī, stokaṁ stokaṁ kṣaṇe kṣaṇe
karmāro rajatasyaiva nirdhamen malam ātmanaḥ.
Gradually, little by little, moment by moment, the intelligent one should remove (nirdhamen) his own impurities (malam), just as a smith would remove (nirdhamen) the silver’s impurities (malam).
Notice, by the way, the nuanced difference between should remove and would remove in this verse.
Nouns and Pronouns
Nouns can also be reduplicated in meaning (22.3).
Yathā hy agāraṁ succhannaṁ praviśya tamasā sphuṭam,
vidyamānāni rūpāṇi cakṣuṣmāṁ hi na paśyati.
Just as when entering a well-thatched house that is steeped in darkness, though forms (rūpāṇi) are present one with eyes does not see forms (rūpāṇi).
We also see the same phenomena with pronouns, as in (22.12.ii):
Ye rūpeṇa pramiṇvanti, māṁ ghoṣeṇānuyānti ca,
chandarāgavaśopetā, na māṁ jānanti te janāḥ.
Those who judge me (māṁ) by means of form, and pursue me (māṁ) because of reputation, overcome by desire and passion, those people know me not.
This elliptical style is not a flaw of the gāthā style but a feature. It demands active engagement, turning the listener from a passive recipient into a collaborator who must unpack the verse, and supply what is missing. This very process of unpacking—supplying the missing negatives, verbs, and nouns—ensures the teaching sinks in more deeply. The text gives a concise statement, which is sometimes like a puzzle, and the listener must diligently work it out and apply it to the complexities of mind and world.
Unstated Agent
Another kind of ellipsis is where the actual agent of the verse goes unstated. Compare (3.15):
Tṛṣṇā hi hetuḥ saritā viṣaktikā,
gaṇḍasya nityaṁ visṛteha jālinī,
latāṁ pipāsām apanīya sarvaśo,
nivartate duḥkham idaṁ punaḥ punaḥ.
For craving is the cause of the entangling streams of attachments, like the constant swelling of a boil here, having removed this creeper, this thirst, in every way, suffering ceases again and again.
We can see from the above that when the specific agent is left out, then it has the effect of universalising the teaching. This isn’t for one person, but applies to all. Another example (3.2):
Vitarkavyupaśame tu yo rato,
hy aśubhāṁ bhāvayate, sadā smṛtaḥ,
tṛṣṇā hy eṣa prahāsyate,
sa tu khalu pūtikaroti bandhanam.
But for the one who has delight in the calming of thoughts, who cultivates the unattractive, always mindful, this one will surely abandon craving, he surely makes the bonds rot away.
Omission of the Copula
It is very common in both Sanskrit and Pāḷi verse texts that the copula (bhavati/hoti/asti, etc.) is omitted, and has to be understood from the context. These occur too frequently to be noticed in each case, so I just give a few examples here. For instance (4.15ab):
Apuṇyalābhaṁ ca gatiṁ ca pāpikāṁ …
There is (bhavati) the gaining of demerit and a bad destination …
Or this (2.5):
Na tad dṛḍhaṁ bandhanam, āhur āryā …
Not so strong are (bhavanti) those bonds, say the noble ones …
or again (9.2):
Śreyo hy ayoguḍā bhuktās, taptā hy agniśikhopamāḥ,
na tu bhuñjīta duḥśīlo rāṣṭrapiṇḍam asaṁyataḥ.
It’s (bhavati) better to have eaten iron balls, glowing like a flame of fire, than that one should, unvirtuous and unrestrained, enjoy the country’s almsfood.
We could also interpret this as an implied optative:
Śreyo hy ayoguḍā bhuktās …
It would be (bhavet) better to have eaten iron balls …
Other tenses may be involved also, compare (7.5c-d) where the future tense is implied:
manasā kuśalaṁ kuryād, apramāṇaṁ niraupadhim.
one should make merit with the mind, one will become (bhaviṣyati) immeasurable, free from adherence.
Collective Neuter Singulars
A recurrent stylistic feature of the gāthā form, closely tied to its concision, is the use of the neuter singular noun in a collective sense. This metrical device allows a single, often shorter, singular form to represent a plural or abstract collective concept, satisfying syllable constraints while maintaining semantic breadth. This construction is standard for abstract or mass nouns denoting things that are often plural or aggregate in reality: karmam (deeds), dhanam (wealth), malam (impurities), pāpam, puṇyam (bad and good acts, or demerit and merit), sukham, duḥkham (pleasures and pains, or happiness and suffering).
For example (20.1):
Krodhaṁ jahed, viprajahec ca mānaṁ,
saṁyojanaṁ sarvam atikrameta.
One should abandon anger, one should fully abandon conceit, one should overcome all fetters.
Here saṁyojanaṁ is a singular, but sarvaṁ (all) ensures its meaning as a plural.
Again here (2.5):
Na tad dṛḍhaṁ bandhanam, āhur āryā,
yad āyasaṁ dāravaṁ balbajaṁ vā.
Not so strong are those bonds, say the noble ones, which are made of iron or wood or reeds.
The variety of different kinds of bonds ensures that bandhanam is a collective singular.
And this (1.23):
Sarve satvā mariṣyanti, maraṇāntaṁ hi jīvitam,
yathākarma gamiṣyanti, puṇyapāpaphalopagāḥ.
All beings will die, life indeed ends in death, according to their deeds they will go on, experiencing the fruits of merit and demerit.
Where karma (sg.) is being used to indicate the collection of deeds one has built up, as one doesn’t go to the next life on the basis on one deed.
The frequent use of the neuter singular with a collective sense (e.g., karmam, dhanam, palitam, puṇyam, pāpam, sukham, duḥkham, pramāṇam, lābham, viśeṣam, malam) is a standard feature of the gāthā style, serving the metrical need for concision where a plural form would be more syllabically cumbersome (18.1).
Ka imāṁ pṛthivīṁ vijeṣyate
Yamalokaṁ ca tathā sadevakam?
Ko Dharmapadaṁ sudeśitaṁ,
kuśalaḥ puṣpam iva praceṣyate?
Who will understand this earth and Yama’s realms (coll. sg.), together with the Devas (coll. sg.)? Who will examine the well-taught Dharma verses (coll. sg.), as a skilful person will examine flowers (coll. sg.)?
Where the commentary to the Pāḷi parallel specifically says Yamalokaṁ (sg.) means the fourfold lower world; sadevakaṁ means the human world together with the Deva worlds; and that the Dhammapadaṁ is comprised of the 37 things on the side of Awakening. The commentary doesn’t say that pupphaṁ specifically means flowers (pl.), but it does seem reasonable to translate it as such.
Compositional Techniques and Stylistic Features
Beyond its doctrinal content, the Udānavarga exhibits distinct compositional patterns and stylistic traits that reflect its origins as a crafted, memorizable anthology. These features—from large-scale structural repetitions to minute phonetic adjustments—offer insight into the methods of its compilers and the oral milieu from which it emerged.
Keyword Substitution
A fundamental compositional technique in the Udānavarga is the generation of multiple verses through the systematic substitution of key doctrinal terms. Standard sequences—most notably involving rāgam (passion), dveṣam (hatred), moham (delusion), mānam (conceit), lobham (greed), and tṛṣṇā (craving)—create thematic clusters (e.g., 705.i–710; 711.i–716). This method suggests a pedagogical intent, reinforcing core concepts through patterned repetition. Notably, the Pāli parallels often contain only the seed verse, indicating that the Udānavarga’s compilers may have elaborated a simpler original into a more exhaustive doctrinal list.
Systematic Variation and Chapter Construction
This technique of variation is employed on a larger scale to structure entire chapters. The Peyālavarga (Ch. 33) is built from intricate variations on just four core verses. Similarly, the Ātmavarga (Ch. 23) presents 14 successive variations (23.12–26) on a single seed verse (23.11), each exploring a different implication of self-protection:
Ātmā tv ihātmano nāthaḥ, ko nu nāthaḥ paro bhavet?
Ātmanā hi sudāntena, nāthaṁ labhati paṇḍitaḥ.
The self is the protector of self here, for who else could be a protector? Through training oneself well, a wise one obtains a protector.
with a different last quarter each time.
We also have the Uraga verses in this collection, separated into two sequences, the first 18.21–18.21F is another example of the rāgam, dveṣam, etc. sequence discussed above; the second runs from 32.55–32-80 (26 verses). In the latter the final pādayuga is the same each time, with differing opening lines. This makes the total number of Uraga verses 33, almost double the 17 verses in the Pāḷi, where it occurs, not in a verse collection, but as the opening chapter of the Suttanipāta.
Recombination
Another way in which verses could be assembled, from what were probably existing verses is through recombination of parts of a verse to form a new verse. Compare this verse (4.27):
Apramādarato bhikṣuḥ, pramāde bhayadarśakaḥ,
durgād uddharatetmānaṁ paṅkasannaiva kuñjaraḥ.
A monastic who delights in heedfulness, who sees danger in heedlessness, must raise himself up from a pit, like the tusker sunk in the mud.
Here we have parts of two Dhammapada verses (Dhp 31ab + Dhp 327c-d).
The following verse is also made up of parts from other verses, but in this case, they are from widely differing collections, being assembled from Dhp 31ab + Thag 2c-d (4.28):
Apramādarato bhikṣuḥ, pramāde bhayadarśakaḥ,
dhunāti pāpakāṁ dharmāṁ, patrāṇīva hi mārutaḥ.
A monastic who delights in heedfulness, who sees danger in heedlessness, shakes off wicked thoughts, like a wind shakes off the leaves of a tree.
Note that Dhp 31 is paralleled in full in verse 4.29, and the Theragāthā verse finds a full parallel at 28.8.
There are many of these recombinations of parts—usually of pādayugas—throughout the text.
Acknowledgements
While making this translation I extensively used my own previous translations of verse texts, including the Dhammapada, the Patna Dhammapada, Udāna, Jātaka and Buddhanīti Saṅgaho among others, which formed a basis for this translation. I also translated many verses for the first time.
I discussed each translation with DeepSeek AI, which has very good knowledge of Pāḷi, Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit, as well as classical Sanskrit (accessed from July–December 2025). This often led to corrections and emendations, but I also sometimes had to hold my ground and show it why I believed my translation was correct.
I used DeepSeek AI also to generate the initial grammatical analysis, which was then discussed and corrected where necessary. Overall it was an instructive experience, and I learned a lot through it, it was like having a benevolent, polite and well-read teacher always available on hand.
I am very grateful to Prof. Dharmavardhana-Jñānagarbha with whom I discussed some difficult points. Despite his being both Rector and Dean of the Faculty of Graduate Studies, and his busy schedule having teaching work at the International Buddhist College, he dedicated much time looking at points I needed help with.
Of course, if there are any mistakes remaining, that is my fault entirely. I would be grateful to readers who notice such to contact me at anandajoti@gmail.com, so corrections can be made.
Ānandajoti Bhikkhu,
December 2025