“You cry ‘Live, my dear mother!’ in the forest. “Amma jīvāti vanamhi kandasi, Ubbirī, get a hold of yourself! Attānaṁ adhigaccha ubbiri; Eighty-four thousand people, Cullāsītisahassāni, all named ‘Live’, Sabbā jīvasanāmikā; have been burnt in this funeral ground: Etamhāḷāhane daḍḍhā, which one do you grieve for?” Tāsaṁ kamanusocasi”.

“Oh! For you have plucked the arrow from me, “Abbahī vata me sallaṁ, so hard to see, stuck in the heart. duddasaṁ hadayassitaṁ; You’ve swept away the grief for my daughter Yaṁ me sokaparetāya, in which I once was mired. dhītusokaṁ byapānudi.

Today I’ve plucked the arrow, Sājja abbūḷhasallāhaṁ, I’m hungerless, quenched. Nicchātā parinibbutā; I go for refuge to that sage, the Buddha, Buddhaṁ dhammañca saṅghañca, to his teaching, and to the Sangha.” Upemi saraṇaṁ munin”ti.

… Ubbirī therī ….