“Then again when I was the true-born son of the king of Kāsi, I grew up in an iron house, so I was named Ayoghara.

‘Your life has been a painful one, as you’ve been raised in confinement. Today, my son, rule the entirety of this land.’

Having bowed to the citizens of country and town, the king and his people, I raised my cupped palms and said the following.

‘All the creatures of this earth—low, middle, or high—are unprotected in their own home, in which they grew up with their families.

It was unique in the world to be raised in confinement. I grew up in an iron house, scarcely lit by sun or moon.

Filled with rotting carcass, I escaped my mother’s womb. Then to a viler suffering I was tossed in an iron house.

Having fallen into such appallingly dreadful suffering, if I desired kingships, I’d be the worst of the worst.

I’m fed up with the body, I have no need for kingship. I shall seek quenching where Death will not crush me.’

Reflecting in this way, as the great crowd wailed, like a bull elephant bursting his ropes, I entered the forest grove.