He robed up, and, taking his bowl and robe, went to Dhanañjāni’s home, where he sat down on the seat spread out and said to Dhanañjāni, “I hope you’re keeping well, Dhanañjāni, I hope you’re all right. I hope your pain is fading, not growing; that its fading is evident, not its growing.”

“I’m not keeping well, Mister Sāriputta, I’m not getting by. My pain is terrible and growing, not fading; its growing is evident, not its fading. The winds piercing my head are so severe, it feels like a strong man drilling into my head with a sharp point. I’m not keeping well. The pain in my head is so severe, it feels like a strong man tightening a strong leather strap around my head. I’m not keeping well. The winds slicing my belly are so severe, like a deft butcher or their apprentice were slicing open a cow’s belly with a sharp meat cleaver. I’m not keeping well. The burning in my body is so severe, it feels like two strong men grabbing a weaker man by the arms to burn and scorch him on a pit of glowing coals. I’m not keeping well, Mister Sāriputta, I’m not getting by. My pain is terrible and growing, not fading; its growing is evident, not its fading.”