The Obstinate Ox (ख़लुंकीय)

थेरे गणहरे गग्गे, मुणी आसी विसारए ।
आइण्णे गणिभाविम्म, समाहिं पडिसंधए ॥ १ ॥

The elder Garg was a learned monk, a leader of a group of disciples, endowed with the full virtues of a true teacher, and a diligent guardian of inner equanimity.

Elder Garg Muni is introduced here as a fully accomplished teacher — a stainless elder, a holder of a large community of monks, and a scholar versed in all canonical texts. The commentary notes that "sthavira" carries three meanings: one ordained for twenty or more years (dīkṣā-sthavira), one learned in the Sthānāṅga and Samavāyāṅga scriptures (śruta-sthavira), and one sixty or more years of age (vaya-sthavira). Garg Muni embodied all three. As a gaṇadhara, he held and guided a community of 500 disciples. Yet the most essential quality singled out here is his inner equanimity: he himself dwelt in perfect stillness and worked tirelessly to bring his disciples into that same stillness. A true teacher is not merely knowledgeable — he models the very state he is trying to cultivate in others. Garg Muni is presented as that ideal: learned, communal, and serene.

The simple version: Garg Muni was a wise, experienced elder monk who led 500 disciples and kept his own mind perfectly calm and steady.

वहणे वहमाणस्स, कंतारं अइवत्तइ ।
जोए वहमाणस्स, संसारो अइवत्तइ ॥ २ ॥

A well-trained ox, when yoked and pulling, crosses the jungle; likewise, a well-disciplined disciple, when engaged in the practice of restraint, crosses the ocean of worldly existence.

The image of the gentle ox opening this chapter is instructive. A well-trained ox, when placed in the yoke, does not resist — it applies itself steadily, and through that single-pointed effort carries its master safely through the most frightening terrain. The jungle (kaṃtāra) is a traditional metaphor for the difficult and dangerous world of cyclic existence. A disciple who is truly gentle — submissive to the teacher's guidance, free of arrogance — applies himself to the path of restraint with exactly that steady pull. The result is not gradual improvement but actual transcendence: he crosses the ocean of worldly bondage entirely. The teaching here is about surrender to a process, not passive resignation. The ox doesn't debate the jungle; it walks through it. The disciplined practitioner doesn't debate the path; he practices it. This verse is placed first to contrast everything that follows — the vicious ox in all its forms.

The simple version: Just as a good ox pulls a cart safely through the jungle, a well-disciplined student who follows the path crosses the painful cycle of rebirths.

खलुंके जो उ जोएइ, विहम्माणो किलिस्सइ ।
असमाहिं च वेएइ, तोत्तओ य से भज्जइ ॥ ३ ॥

Whoever yokes a vicious ox experiences only exhaustion and torment, is left without inner peace, and finds that even the whip eventually breaks in the attempt.

This verse introduces the central image of the chapter: the khaluṃka, an ox so obstinate and vicious that it cannot be trained. The commentaries explain the word through multiple meanings: one who goes the wrong way even after being directed, one who can never be corrected, one essentially crooked in nature. When the charioteer tries to yoke such an ox, the ox's resistance doesn't merely cause inconvenience — it causes the charioteer real harm. He is worn down by the effort, loses his own composure, and in the end even the whip with which he tried to guide the ox breaks. This is the teacher's situation with an irredeemably obstinate disciple. No matter how much a teacher tries — through instruction, guidance, even mild correction — the result is the teacher's own suffering. The instrument of teaching itself is worn out in the attempt. This verse sets up the extended analogy of the following five sutras, each of which catalogs a specific way a vicious ox behaves.

The simple version: Trying to control an impossibly stubborn ox only exhausts the driver and breaks his whip — just as an undisciplined student only wears out his teacher.

एगं डसइ पुच्छिम्म, एगं विंधइ अभिक्खणं ।
एगं भंजइ सिमलं, एगो उप्पह-पट्टुआओ ॥ ४ ॥

One vicious ox bites another's tail; another repeatedly stabs with its iron horns; one smashes the yoke; and another bolts off the road entirely.

This verse begins a detailed catalogue of the many ways an obstinate ox misbehaves — and by analogy, the ways undisciplined disciples derail the spiritual journey. Each behavior represents a different failure mode. The ox that bites another's tail creates discord in the community — the troublemaker who undermines harmony among fellow monks. The one that repeatedly stabs with its iron horns represents the disciple who is chronically hurtful, always wounding others through sharp words or aggressive behavior. The one that breaks the yoke represents the disciple who destroys the structural framework of monastic life — rules, routines, the bonds of community discipline. The one that bolts off the road represents the disciple who abandons the path altogether. Each failure is specific, observable, and damaging not just to the ox itself but to the entire team and the charioteer. In community life, one person's indiscipline has ripple effects on everyone.

The simple version: Just as vicious oxen cause all kinds of damage — biting, stabbing, smashing the yoke, running away — undisciplined monks cause many kinds of harm to the spiritual community.

एगो पडइ पासेणं, णिवेसइ णिविज्जइ ।
उक्कुहइ उप्फिडइ, सढे बालगिविं वए ॥ ५ ॥

One ox falls to its side; another sits down stubbornly in the road; one leaps up and kicks; another bucks; and one vicious ox spots a young cow and bolts after her.

The catalogue of obstinate ox behaviors continues with equally vivid examples. Falling sideways represents the disciple who collapses under the demands of practice — not from inability but from unwillingness, feigning weakness to avoid discipline. Sitting down stubbornly in the road represents the disciple who simply refuses to move — the one who will not follow instructions no matter what is said. Kicking and bucking represents the disciple who reacts violently or aggressively when guidance is offered. Most striking is the last image: the ox that spots a young cow and bolts after it. This is the disciple who abandons all spiritual purpose the moment temptation calls — the one whose senses overcome his vows when an attractive distraction appears. The range of these images covers every mode of failure: passive, active, and reactive. The teacher standing at the center of all this chaos is helpless, no matter how skilled or patient.

The simple version: Some vicious oxen fall, some refuse to move, some kick, and some just run after distractions — showing all the ways a spiritually undisciplined person fails.

माई मुद्धेण पडइ, कुद्धे गच्छइ पडिप्पहं ।
मयलक्खेण चिट्टुइ, वेगेण य पहावइ ॥ ६ ॥

One ox deceitfully bows its head and falls to the ground; when angered, it runs the wrong way; one lies perfectly still pretending to be dead; and another charges forward at full speed.

This verse introduces the most psychologically subtle of the vicious ox types: the deceitful one. The ox that bows its head as if in submission and then collapses represents the disciple who performs false humility — who appears to comply but does not. This is more dangerous than open rebellion because it is invisible until it is too late. The ox that runs in the opposite direction when provoked represents the disciple who, under the pressure of instruction, does exactly the wrong thing — a perverse reactivity where every attempt to guide produces the opposite result. The one that plays dead represents the disciple who feigns incapacity — "I am too weak, too unwell" — to avoid any demand. And the one that bolts at full speed represents the disciple whose energy is enormous but entirely misdirected. All four types in this verse share a common feature: their failures masquerade as something else. Deceit is the most insidious obstacle to a teacher's work, and this verse names it plainly.

The simple version: Some students fake humility, some do the opposite of what they're told, some pretend they can't do anything, and some run full speed in the wrong direction.

छिण्णाले छिंदइ सेल्लिं, दुदंतो भंजए जुगं ।
से वि य सुस्सुयाइत्ता, उज्जिहित्ता पलायए ॥ ७ ॥

A vicious ox snaps the rope that binds it; the uncontrollable one breaks the yoke; and even after all this, snorting and bellowing with fright, it shakes itself free and flees.

This verse brings the ox analogy to its climactic conclusion: the most dangerous obstinate ox, one that dismantles every physical restraint placed upon it. First the rope — the symbolic bond of discipline and commitment — is snapped. Then the yoke — the structural framework that makes coordinated effort possible — is smashed. Finally, with a terrifying bellow designed to frighten and scatter everything around it, the ox tosses its harness aside and flees. The parallel in monastic life is the disciple who, step by step, undoes every form of accountability: first the inner vows, then the external structure, and finally abandons the community entirely with dramatic and disruptive behavior. The bellowing and snorting before flight represents the disciple who creates maximum noise and disturbance on the way out — blame, accusation, defiance — before departing. Their departure is never quiet; it fractures something that others depended on.

The simple version: The worst kind of vicious ox breaks every rope and yoke that holds it, makes a huge frightening noise, and then runs away completely.

खलुंका जारिसा जुज्जा, दुस्सीसा वि हु तारिसा ।
जोइया धम्मजाणिम्म, भज्जंति धिइदुब्बला ॥ ८ ॥

Just as obstinate oxen yoked together bring chaos and grief to the charioteer, so undisciplined disciples yoked to the chariot of dharma — being weak in resolve — break apart and cause destruction.

This verse draws the explicit conclusion of the long ox analogy. The comparison is made directly: obstinate oxen and undisciplined disciples are of the same type and produce the same result — destruction of the vehicle they are part of. The "chariot of dharma" is a rich metaphor: the path is the vehicle that carries souls toward liberation, and its power depends on those inside it pulling together with discipline and resolve. When a disciple yoked to this vehicle lacks resolve (dhīti-dubbala — weakness of patience and willpower), he doesn't just fail personally; he damages the collective structure. The word dhīti specifically refers to patience, steadiness under pressure, and the sustained ability to remain firm without breaking down. The root cause of all the behaviors described in sutras 3–7 is named here: insufficient inner fortitude. Every form of indiscipline traces back to this single weakness.

The simple version: Undisciplined disciples damage the spiritual path the same way vicious oxen destroy the cart — because they don't have the inner strength to hold steady.

इड्ढीगारिवए एगे, एगेत्थ रसगारवे ।
सायागारिवए एगे, एगे सुचिरकोहणे ॥ ९ ॥

Elder Garg reflects: some of my disciples are proud of their supernatural accomplishments; some are attached to rich and flavorful food; some are proud of their comfort and ease; and some remain chronically irritable and angry.

With sutra 9, the chapter shifts from the ox analogy to Elder Garg's direct inner reflection on his specific disciples. Four distinct failure types are named. The disciple proud of supernatural powers is the one who has developed spiritual capabilities but turned them into ego rather than selflessness — he uses his attainments to feel superior rather than to serve. The one attached to rich food has not renounced sensory pleasure at the level of taste; he goes to great lengths to obtain flavorful food, a clear violation of the spirit of renunciation. The one proud of comfort seeks ideal conditions — the right temperature, the right companions — and is never satisfied. And the chronically angry disciple is perhaps the most damaging in community life: a person whose anger persists not for a moment but for extended periods, poisoning every interaction. These four cover the primary passion of anger and the primary forms of ego (pride of power, pleasure, and ease).

The simple version: Some monks are proud of their powers, some obsess over food, some crave comfort, and some stay angry for a very long time.

भिक्खालिसए एगे, एगे ओमाण-भीरुए ।
थद्धे एगे अणुसासिम्म, हेउहिं कारणेहिं ॥ १० ॥

Some are lazy about collecting alms; some are afraid of being insulted while begging; and some remain arrogant even when being instructed patiently with reasons and explanations.

Three more failure types are described here. The disciple who is lazy about collecting alms is neglecting a fundamental responsibility of monastic life. In Jain practice, the daily alms-round is not merely about obtaining food — it is an act of humility, a discipline in its own right, and an opportunity for the householder community to earn merit. A lazy monk fails on all counts. The second type is the one who fears being insulted during the begging round. A sensitive disciple might avoid certain households to spare himself the pain of humiliation. But this avoidance is still a failure of discipline — it allows fear to override duty. The third and most difficult is the arrogant one: the disciple who, even when given patient, logical, compassionate instruction, meets it with pride. No amount of reason moves him, because his wall is ego, not ignorance. These three types — the slothful, the fearful, and the arrogant — represent the breadth of human weakness that every teacher must face.

The simple version: Some monks are too lazy to beg, some are too afraid of embarrassment, and some are too proud to accept any teaching.

सो वि अंतरभासिल्लो, दोसमेव पकुव्वइ ।
आयरियाणं तु वयणं, पडिकूलेइ अभिक्खणं ॥ ११ ॥

That same disciple interrupts his teacher mid-sentence, places the blame on the teacher alone, and repeatedly acts contrary to the teacher's words and instructions.

This sutra continues directly from sutra 10, naming three concrete behaviors of the arrogant disciple. First: interrupting. The disciple does not wait for the teacher to finish — he cuts in, asserting his view before the teaching is complete. This is not curiosity or enthusiasm; it is the ego refusing to be in the position of learner. Second: blame-attribution. When anything goes wrong, this disciple consistently finds fault with the teacher rather than looking inward. Every instruction becomes a critique of the instructor rather than an opportunity for self-examination. Third: chronic non-compliance. Even when the teacher's words are clear, this disciple repeatedly does the opposite — not through misunderstanding but through willful defiance. Together these three behaviors — interruption, blame, and non-compliance — form a pattern of systematic rejection of the teacher-student relationship. In Jain monastic life, this relationship is the axis around which the entire spiritual journey turns; to destroy it from the disciple's side is to eliminate the possibility of progress.

The simple version: That arrogant student interrupts his teacher, blames the teacher for everything, and keeps doing the opposite of what he's told.

ण सा ममं वियाणाइ, ण वि सा मञ्झ दाहिइ ।
णिग्गया होहिइ मण्णे, साहू अण्णोत्थ वच्चउ ॥ १२ ॥

A disciple avoiding the alms-round makes excuses to himself: "She does not know me; she will not give me anything; she must have gone out — let another monk go there instead."

This verse offers a sharp portrait of the fear-driven disciple's inner monologue. Faced with the prospect of going to a particular household for alms — one that might involve discomfort or the possibility of rejection — the disciple constructs a series of plausible-sounding reasons not to go. She doesn't know me. She won't give me anything. She's probably not even home. Send someone else. Each reason sounds individually reasonable. But the cumulative pattern is avoidance dressed up as logic. The Jain and Buddhist traditions both recognize this as a specific failure mode: rationalization. The disciple has not consciously decided to shirk his duty; he has convinced himself, through a chain of plausible thoughts, that shirking is the reasonable course. This is harder to address than open defiance because the disciple himself may not recognize it as failure. A teacher who tries to correct it will meet sincere-seeming justifications at every step.

The simple version: A lazy monk makes up reasons to avoid begging — "she doesn't know me, she won't give, she's not home" — to avoid what he simply doesn't want to do.

पेसिया पलिउंचंति, ते परियंति समंतओ ।
रायवेट्टिं च मण्णंता, करेंति भिउडिं मुहे ॥ १३ ॥

When sent on errands, they return without completing the task; they wander in all directions; and considering their service as some kind of forced royal labor imposed upon them, they make frowning, resentful faces.

This sutra closes the catalogue of undisciplined behaviors with a particularly human picture: the resentful subordinate. When given a task, these disciples do not refuse outright — that would be too obvious. Instead, they fail to complete it, return without result, and wander wherever they please in between. More revealing is their inner attitude: they experience service to the teacher as a form of forced labor, like peasants conscripted into royal service (rāya-veṭṭi). This comparison is devastating in its precision. The disciple who sees loving service as forced conscription has fundamentally misunderstood the relationship. He experiences the teacher's assignments not as opportunities for growth or acts of devotion, but as oppression. The scowling face upon return is the visible expression of this inner resentment — and it signals to the teacher that the relationship has broken down entirely.

The simple version: When given tasks, these monks come back without finishing, wander around freely, and wear angry faces as if serving their teacher is some kind of punishment.

वाइया संगहिया चेव, भत्तपाणेण पोसिया ।
जायपक्खा जहा हंसा, पक्कमंति दिसोदिसिं ॥ १४ ॥

"I taught them, gathered them, nurtured them with food and drink — yet like swans that have grown their wings, they fly away in every direction."

With sutra 14, the chapter enters its final movement: Elder Garg's first-person reckoning with what has happened. The list of his investments is poignant — he taught them, organized their community, fed them and cared for them physically. In traditional monastic life, the teacher is responsible for the complete wellbeing of his disciples — spiritual, intellectual, and material. Garg Muni had done all of this. And now, as soon as his disciples developed the capacity to fly — like swans that, once their wings have grown, need not stay in one pond — they scattered in every direction. The image of the swan is carefully chosen. Swans are noble birds, associated in Indian thought with discernment and grace. Their departure is not ugly. But their scattering in all directions is the teacher's grief: he had hoped they would fly toward liberation, but instead they have simply gone wherever their inclinations carried them. The teacher's lament here is completely human — the grief of genuine care that has gone unreciprocated.

The simple version: Elder Garg reflects: "I taught them everything, fed them, cared for them — and like swans with their wings grown, they flew away in all directions."

अह सारही विचितेइ, खलुंकेहिं समागओ ।
किं मञ्झ दुट्टुसीसेहिं, अप्पा मे अवसीयइ ॥ १५ ॥

"Like a charioteer exhausted by his vicious oxen, I now reflect: what benefit do these corrupt disciples bring me? My own soul is being dragged down by them."

This sutra is the turning point of the chapter. Elder Garg explicitly draws the analogy for himself: he is the charioteer, his disciples are the vicious oxen. And the question — "what benefit do these wicked disciples bring me?" — is not callousness but clear-eyed spiritual discernment. In Jain thought, every relationship is evaluated in terms of its effect on the soul's upward or downward movement. Garg Muni recognizes that continued attachment to these undisciplined disciples is dragging his own soul downward (ava-sīyai — to sink, to be weighed down). This is not the reflection of a teacher who has stopped caring; it is the reflection of a teacher who cares enough about liberation — his own and ultimately theirs — to see clearly. The phrase "my own soul is being dragged down" is striking in its honesty. Even a great teacher is not immune to the spiritual harm that comes from sustained, futile attachment to those who refuse to be helped. The question "what benefit?" is the beginning of a courageous letting go.

The simple version: Like a driver worn out by vicious oxen, Elder Garg asks himself: "What good are these impossible disciples doing me? They are dragging my own soul down."

जारिसा मम सीसाओ, तारिसा गलिगद्दहा ।
गलिगद्दहे जहित्ताणं, दढं पगिणहइ तवं ॥ १६ ॥

"My disciples are just like lazy, stubborn donkeys." Abandoning those lazy donkeys, he firmly took up the path of austerity and practice.

This sutra brings the decisive action: Elder Garg releases his disciples. The image shifts from the obstinate ox to the lazy donkey — a different animal conveying the same failure of wasted effort combined with stubborn refusal to move. The commentary notes that just as a donkey keeps being urged forward but cannot be properly directed, these disciples kept receiving instruction but could not be guided. Garg Muni's inner dialogue reaches its conclusion: these disciples are like lazy donkeys; they will not move forward no matter how much effort is spent on them. His response is not anger or punishment but renunciation: he abandons attachment to them. This is the deeply Jain moment in the chapter. Liberation requires releasing even the most natural attachments — including the teacher's attachment to his own disciples. Upon releasing this attachment, Garg Muni does not become passive; he firmly (daḍhaṃ) takes up austerity. The renunciation of failed attachment becomes fuel for intensified personal practice. The letting go is not loss — it is the liberation of his own energy for his own journey.

The simple version: Elder Garg compares his disciples to lazy stubborn donkeys, lets go of his attachment to them, and throws himself fully into austerity and solitary practice.

मिउ-मद्दव-संपण्णो, गंभीरो सुसमाहिओ ।
विहरइ महिं महप्पा, सीलभूएण अप्पणा ॥ ति बेमि ।

Endowed with gentleness and tenderness, serious and perfectly equanimous, the great-souled Elder Garg wandered the earth — his own soul itself having become his virtue. — Thus I say.

The final verse of Chapter 27 offers a radiant portrait of what Elder Garg became after releasing his attachment to his undisciplined disciples. The language is entirely transformed: where before there was exhaustion, confusion, and a soul being dragged downward, now there is gentleness (miu), depth (gaṃbhīra), and perfect stillness (susamāhia). The qualities listed — softness, tenderness, seriousness, equanimity — are not the virtues of one who has given up, but of one who has been fully freed. The phrase "his own soul itself having become his virtue" (sīlabhūeṇa appoṇā) is the most beautiful in the chapter. In Jain philosophy, virtue is ultimately not a set of rules to be followed but a quality of the soul in its pure state. Garg Muni, having removed the obstacle of his attachment to difficult disciples, now embodies virtue rather than merely practicing it. He wanders the earth as a great-souled being — moving freely, anchored entirely in himself, at peace. The closing "ti bemi" (thus I say) echoes through the Uttaradhyana as the author's seal: these are the living words transmitted across 2,500 years.

The simple version: After letting go, Elder Garg became gentle, deep, and perfectly at peace — a great soul wandering the earth with virtue as his very nature.